


Long Shadows

by jaxington



Series: Long Shadows [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Humor, Movie Spoilers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 198,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxington/pseuds/jaxington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the God of Mischief meets his match, receives a taste of his own medicine, stops believing in coincidence, and finds something vaguely resembling peace in the form of a small woman with a big voice. Avengers AU. Loki x OC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Layers of Ice

 

"We're going for full disclosure here, Miss Tate." Nick Fury, with every last ounce of his limited patience, glowers across the stainless steel table at a small woman absently braiding her wild blond hair. "Do you understand what we need from you? Time is a pretty big factor and we're running out of it."

The woman sighs heavily and gives one nod as she continues to braid. It's a nervous habit, one she thought to have conquered as a teenager but given all she's been through in the last few weeks its reemergence was inevitable.

Or maybe it's been the last few months. She can't even be sure.

She glances up briefly, gaze flickering from world's first superhero to god to billionaire playboy philanthropist before she goes back to staring at the tabletop.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I'm not really one for words."

And it's the truth. Eleanor Tate spent half her senior year of high school in total silence. Although she moved on from this childish coping mechanism, boisterousness never quite returned.

She is just full of nervous habits at the moment. The intimidating people scrutinizing her do nothing to help her already frayed nerves.

Her penchant for silence is proving quiet cumbersome to the obviously irritated band gathered in the helicarrier's large bridge area. These people are apparently part of something called SHIELD. She only learned of their existence yesterday when they disturbed her attempted escape from the underground bunker that has passed as her home for months now.

Or maybe it's been weeks.

"Well, find them quickly, Miss Tate," snaps Fury, his good eye narrowing in frustration. "Let's start simple. How did you first meet the war criminal known as Loki?"

The woman stops her braiding abruptly, sitting up a little straighter in her hard swivel chair. She tucks one leg under her slight frame and hugs her other knee to her chest, picking absently at the seam of her standard issue SHIELD stretchy pants.

"How long has it been?" she asks. "Since he took me? How long?"

"Three months."

She winces. Her time with the God of Lies seems both longer and shorter than three months all at once.

"It was about six months ago, then. I guess," she murmurs, suppressing a shudder at the memory, an image of mad blues eyes staring down at her in the dark. "Something like that. Mid February."

It was anniversary of her fake dad's death, but she doesn't share that part.

A murmur goes up around the table. They don't believe that Loki has been here for so long, that his scheming went undetected for so many months.

Eleanor Tate stays quiet as the group argues about this new knowledge. They blame Thor, the God of freaking Thunder, Loki's brother of sorts, for being unaware. They blame Tony Stark for the failure of his many technologies to pick up anything. They blame SHIELD for their general lack of intelligence on the matter; funny, given they are a supposed intelligence agency.

Eventually Mr. Fury demands silence and the motley crew settles down. Ellie stares at the table, not appreciating the judgment she sees in their stares.

If these are the individuals to save the world from Loki, than the human race is truly and thoroughly fucked.

"You have him, then? He's here, on this helithingy?" she summons the courage to ask. No one answers but there is no need. Their faces say it all.

"Look, I know you've been through a lot," Fury says, turning once more to the uncomfortable young woman. "But in the last few months you have been in a unique position, giving you unparalleled insight to this megalomaniac. We've gotta know the whole story, Miss Tate. We have to know what he's planning. We have to know what you know. Do you know his plan?"

She snorts. "No," she replies. "I don't know anything beyond the standard bit you saw in Germany."

The memory of that ridiculous spectacle makes Ellie cringe.

"You have no details?"

"No. I have no idea what he's going to do. Something involving ultimate power and aliens and a portal and brainwashing people."

"Yeah, we got that bit, sweetheart," Tony Stark says. "What I want to know is why he kept you around at all."

"Don't frighten the poor girl," Loki's fake brother says, regarding her with pity.

"We don't need all the details," says the overly patriotic one. "Just anything you can think of that will give us a hint about what he's planning next."

Ellie stays silent for another long moment. They don't believe her. That much is obvious, but if she had any relevant information, it'd be theirs.

"We didn't talk much," she says. Not about his freaky, crazy plans, anyway.

A murmur goes through those sitting at the table and Ellie realizes just how that statement sounds to the heroes. Their assumptions aren't all wrong, unfortunately.

"Does he know I'm here?" she asks.

"Who knows what he knows," mutters the overly patriotic one. Steve Rodgers, that's his name.

"All I know is that he's been waiting for something," Ellie says, voice quiet but commanding. "And he'll move quickly now that he has it."

"How can you be so sure he has it?" asks Nick Fury.

Ellie slowly turns her head, giving him a measured look.

"If he didn't have it we wouldn't be here," she says. Another murmur goes up around the table. "Look, I'll tell you everything that's happened. I don't think it will help much, but I'll give you the few details I have, but on one condition."

"That's not really how this works," Fury starts.

"Let's hear it," say Stark.

"I want to see him."

* * *

 

**6 Months Earlier**

On roads covered in a thick, menacing layer of ice Ellie Tate reluctantly makes her way to work.

The walk takes only fifteen minutes on summer evenings, but between the horrifying weather and her current semi-inebriated state it will take her double that tonight.

All the booze really isn't helping the situation.

She doesn't drive, hasn't driven since a similarly icy night eight years ago. Plus, she can't afford a car, even if she wanted one. She can barely make rent on her shitty studio apartment.

Thus her intoxicated trek over the fucking ice on her least favorite night of the year. Her asshole boss simply refused to give her the night off when she didn't have a reason and Ellie couldn't find the words to explain.

Eight years ago Ellie killed her fake father and now the depression is so crippling that she felt the need to down a fifth of whiskey just to face the world outside her damp, dingy apartment.

Not exactly something one says to their boss.

More than anything she wants to be in that shithole of an apartment, listening to Frank Sinatra and crying until she can't breathe, getting it all out before tomorrow when she'll go back to being her typical emotionless self.

Her fake daddy really loved the Frank Sinatra.

On every other day of the year she does an excellent job forgetting all about her past life. Thoughts of the family she used to have and the person she used to be rarely flicker through her mind, but today it proves impossible to silence her ghosts without the assistance of hard alcohol.

She rounds the corner and the club comes into view. The block is buzzing with activity, despite the weather and the early hour. Extra security is being set up for the night and although she recognizes the procedure, she can't for the life of her remember why all this is necessary.

She pauses out front, gazing up at the unnecessarily flashy sign.

Closed for a private function.

Very informative. And closed is really not the proper word choice.

This is probably why her boss is making her come in tonight. Private function usually means big spenders, and big spenders want the best.

Ellie is undoubtedly the best.

She pushes through the side door, winding her way through the dark brick hallway that leads to the dressing rooms. Out front may be all glitz and glamor, but the back of the house is simple and rundown.

She's the last one here. The rest are all dressed and ready to go.

"Whoa, Ellie," calls Jason the guitar player. He lounges in his polyester tux, tuning his instrument and sipping a beer. "You look like shit."

Ellie sends him a dark look as she peels off her many layers, dumping mittens, a coat, a scarf, and a ratty beanie on the even rattier green couch that dominates the space in the small staff room.

"Fuck you very much, Jason," Ellie replies as sweetly as possible. She plucks the beer bottle out of his hand and downs it in greedy gulps as he protests weakly.

"Drinkin' on the job today?" asks Mark the drummer with a chuckle.

Ellie shrugs, moving to her locker to get her horrible work dress.

"Gold tonight," Jason supplies helpfully as she kicks off her boots.

Ellie gives him a salute, grabs the proper dress, and slips into the bathroom to change, leaving a trail of winter clothes in her wake.

She takes the stage twenty minutes later, looking more like an emaciated Marilyn Monroe than a flapper. The theme of this particular nightclub is supposedly the roaring twenties, but the owners never seem particularly occupied with historical accuracy.

Her hair is carefully pinned and her far too tight dress shines. Dresses were so not tight in the twenties.

One of the waitresses helped Ellie with the bags under her eyes, so her face is made up perfectly with smoky eyes and a red lip. Ellie knows that this is what draws the crowd, her blond hair and blue eyes and the pleasing lines of her classically beautiful face. Proper clothes give her curves, even if it is all an illusion. Smoke and mirrors. Underneath the push up bra she has the body of a twelve-year-old boy.

A skinny one at that.

They come for the face, but she likes to think the audience sticks around for what she can do.

Ellie stumbles only slightly as she steps up to the microphone, but recovers with a smile, perfect and bright and so appallingly fake.

All this shininess is fake too but no one ever seems to notice, not that she'd want them too.

The only thing she really ever wants to do is the music.

She goes through the routine, flirting with the crowd and pretending the year is really 1923. It's all very Gatsby and opulent.

An historical representation as fake as her smiles and all the padding propping up her teeny, tiny boobs.

Although she seems engaged and charming, her mind wanders. There is so much about this job to detest, along with all the ridiculous wannabe jazz numbers she is forced to sing, most from the play Chicago.

She did manage to sneak a little Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith into the set list tonight. It is a great success.

Two months at the speakeasy and each day Ellie is surprised she managed to keep from cursing out one of the drunken patrons who leer at her and try to take her home, but this job became a financial necessity after the punk rock band she was singing with split up for reasons she didn't even bother paying attention to.

And once the music gets going it isn't so bad. She gets to sing all night, and really isn't that basically what her whole life is about?

Because singing is her one redeeming quality and her life's one joy.

Ellie takes shots with Jason in the back room between sets and by the time they are done for the night she is much drunker than she can recall being in a very long time.

In the first few years of her new life in DC this was a nightly occurrence for Ellie, getting wasted, dancing, singing, laughing, fucking, but for the most part this party girl was left behind after her twenty third birthday almost three years ago.

But eight years ago tonight her fake daddy died and it is so easy not to feel anything when she is being the party girl.

Warmed by alcohol, Ellie doesn't bother to change out of her sparkling gold dress when the night wraps up, and the DJ takes over to allow the patrons to grind against each other for a few more hours. The garment leaves far too much leg exposed, but she can barely feel the frigid winter air. She does ditch the heels for her boots because the roads are icy and she isn't a total idiot.

She loathes heels like she loathes icy roads.

After dodging a handsy Jason as she exits the back room, Ellie makes her way through the masses of people gathered at the bar. There are so many people here for a private function. Ellie never did find out who or what this party is celebrating.

Jason told her but she immediately didn't bother remembering.

Ellie greets the bartender and then waits patiently for him to count out her share of the tips for the evening. She taps out a rhythm on the glossy counter top and attempts to refrain from swaying.

She decides to take a cab home.

No way she'll be walking those icy roads in this state of intoxication.

Absently twirling a lock of blond hair around her finger, Ellie works very hard on not thinking about the man who raised her and his untimely death. It's not working. If only she had something more potent than booze to serve as a distraction.

"From what realm do you hail?"

She jumps slightly at the smoothly accented voice speaking in her ear, his breath leaving a series of goose bumps on the skin of her neck. Her turn is jerky, but when she sees the man grossly invading her personal space she smirks.

This is certainly one way not to think of the dead. It's like she summoned him, her own personal sex god to distract her.

Party girl Ellie appears to be emerging.

Rarely does she have interest in bedding random strangers these days, but something about the pale, piercing gaze and intense expression makes her want him, despite the incomprehensible things coming out of his mouth.

A lovely mouth, sculpted and serious.

His dark hair is tied back, but Ellie has a hard time further scrutinizing his appearance. He is far too tall and she is far too drunk.

Shit, he's got at least a foot on her height-wise.

"Well? Answer me," he snaps, getting even closer. His deep voice sends a shiver up her spine as he looms over her in a way that should be threatening, but Ellie simply continues to stare up at him, entranced by his strangeness and elegance. "Surely you have not lost the gift of speech in the scant few moments since retiring from the stage."

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to place his accent as she decodes the meaning of his rushed words.

"I can talk," she says, speaking in drawn out syllables to demonstrate the truth in her words. "I just prefer not to."

The corner of his mouth twitches into a slight smile at this before his eyes narrow in suspicion once more.

"A Midgardian who prefers not to speak?" he says, continuing to loom over her. "Preposterous. Thus leading me back to my original question. From what realm do you hail?"

Losing track of his strange speech somewhere in the drunken depths of her mind, she blinks at him rapidly.

"Realm?" she finally manages, feeling sloppy and distinctly not charming.

And she wants to charm him.

Charm the pants right off him, as it were.

Fuck, his eyes are really freaking blue. Bluer than hers. And hers are pretty damn blue.

The alternative to charming his pants off is returning alone to her depressing apartment to dwell in the past, and that simply isn't an option.

Drunk as she is, Ellie remembers the appeal of the party girl. The party girl doesn't feel anything bad.

It might be the drunk goggles, but he is extraordinarily attractive.

"You have holes in your persona, pretender," he hisses, as frustrated as she. "No one truly from this pathetic realm could sing as you do. What is your intention?"

Although his demands should be as alarming as they are confusing, Ellie's reactions are altered by alcohol. The little tinkling giggle that escapes her lips appears to horrify him.

This just causes her to giggle more.

"What are you playing at here, dude?" she asks when she finally manages to compose herself. She leans heavily on the bar and tilts her amused face towards his shocked one. "Realms? Pretending? What... just, what?"

She gestures uncontrollably, attempting to remember who exactly is celebrating something here tonight. If she could remember the guest of honor it might clue her in to why such a weirdo would be attending such an event.

His eyes seem to go wild, but Ellie fails to recognize the danger there.

"Dude?" he demands, absolutely seething.

"I'm from North Carolina," she tells him. "That's my home realm, I guess. What’s your name, big guy?"

"Loki."

She laughs again.

"God of Mischief. How fitting," she says.

"What do you know of it, you insipid creature?" he snaps, absolutely seething.

His absurd anger does not alarm her. Ellie just shrugs.

Thinking of the Norse legends her fake daddy once told at bedtime makes her think of him tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.

The whole point is to not think. No good comes from being alone with her thoughts.

"Not much," she confesses. "Something about you birthing a horse with too many legs and some cross dressing."

Her fake father sure told some bizarre bedtime tales. She wonders if these stories are legit myth or something her odd father figure cooked up to entertain his young daughter.

Ellie shakes her head to banish that train of thought, focusing again on the stranger before her. He grumbles under his breath and she giggles again.

"And your name, mortal? If that is even what you are."

"Ellie."

"Ellie?" he asks, horrified once more. The passion behind his response makes her laugh again while the incredulity in his gaze makes Ellie want to smooth out the furrows in his brow with her thumb. "That's appalling. I refuse to refer to you as such."

Ellie raises an eyebrow, forgetting to take offense to his rude behavior. He is so beautiful, in an otherworldly, dark way. She would gladly let him refer to her as anything.

Fuck, those cheekbones.

"Better than Loki," she mutters.

"Watch your tongue."

"You watch it." When she licks the corner of her mouth, his blue eyes go wide. "It's short for Eleanor, if that's better," she tells him as he recovers.

"Eleanor."

The way his voice seems to wrap around the syllables of her name sends another shiver up her spine. His eyes bore into her once more, and she notices for the first time that his gaze is not directed at her eyes, but her forehead.

"Yes," he says. "That is a vast improvement. Quite fitting indeed for someone with your talents."

"Oh, you like the singing, then?" she asks, slurring slightly. She berates herself for letting on the extent of her intoxication.

"Well, yes," he says as if it should be obvious. "No mortal could possibly hope to sing like you, but that is not the talent to which I was referring."

She goes back to staring blankly. Once again, he's lost her. Could he be referring to the tongue thing? If he's that impressed with a little lip licking she doesn't know if he can handle what she has planned for the two of them.

"Tell me, songbird," he says, once more invading her personally space. He speaks in her ear, lips moving against her sensitive skin. Her breathing hitches in her throat and her fingers dig into the edge of the bar. "How do you manage to keep me from skimming your thoughts?"

She says nothing, having no answer to his ever-baffling questions. Instead she ignores the strange things coming from his mouth, choosing instead to tilt her face towards his, dragging her nose along his chiseled jaw.

A strange move, no doubt, but Ellie decides it's fitting because he is strange and she is drunk. She wants him, and when it comes to men and her bed, she never fails to get what she wants.

Probably not a good thing, but it usually serves to make her forget she's so lonely.

He smells divine, the way divinity would smell if it had a smell. He's crisp and clean and somehow dangerous. The way danger would smell if it had a smell.

Sober, grown-up Ellie is whispering in the back of her mind, but the party girl is winning. She wants the danger, wants the distraction, wants this strange, tall, beautiful man in a way that is certainly not rational or wise.

She glances up at him from under thick, long eyelashes, chin pointed towards her chest. This particular look has yet to fail her. For the first time he meets her blue gaze instead of staring determinedly at her forehead. She notices and smirks because this is really so easy, without even really knowing what he's blathering about.

Even if it's been awhile.

"How do you keep me out of your head?" he repeats.

"Oh don't you worry, my friend," she purrs, pressing her body into his. "You're not out of my head. Quite the opposite, actually."

He stares long and hard, a myriad of emotions appearing and disappearing in those kinda-freaky eyes of his. Ellie has little patience for his apparent hesitancy.

"Come on," she says, tugging on his elbow. He is solid and strong, but after a moment he takes a step with her towards the door. "Let me buy you a drink, somewhere I don't work."

* * *

 

She doesn't buy him a drink.

Instead she pours him one at her dark, damp apartment. She can afford no better and has no desire to take a roommate to share the burden of rent.

Loki surveys the hole in the wall that passes for her home, with its peeling wallpaper, threadbare carpets, and folding chair furniture with disgust, but Ellie can't find it in her to feel shame.

She can't find it in her to feel much of anything at all, except a tickling of desire for the man scrutinizing her living space, and a need to forget, just for a little while.

"This is repugnant," he declares, but Ellie isn't offended easily.

She chuckles at his candor and nods because it is really a very shitty apartment. Busying herself with the corkscrew, she watches him look around in horror.

"How is it that an elegant creature with such talent resides in a place like this?" he asks, looming over her once more as she hands him the wine. "Part of her cover, perhaps?"

For one terrible moment she thinks that he knows who she used to be, that he is connected somehow with her old life. She feels all the alcohol consumed earlier curdle in her stomach at the thought of her fake mother finding her. When she disappeared into the city she started fresh, but when he calls her pretender she feels the burn.

Isn't that what she's doing here tonight with him? Pretending that she didn't kill her fake father?

Logic wins in the end.

He doesn't know her story, nor does he care to. His questions continue to baffle her, but she ignores them, choosing instead to go about the business of forgetting for just one night.

 _You are a stupid, stupid, fucked up woman_ , whispers sober, grown up Ellie.

"No cover," she murmurs, gulping down more wine than is wise or necessary. "What you see is what you get."

She sloshes a little and Loki smiles a sinister smile, watching her with those piercing eyes. The color is so strange, a pale blue that seems to swirl in the crappy lighting of her even crappier apartment.

Surely that is a side effect of her drunk.

She wonders for a moment if it was really wise to bring such an odd man back to her home. He could murder her in her sleep.

The thought doesn't scare her nearly as much as it should.

"Come now, songbird," he says, his large hand curling around her throat. He pushes his thumb into the soft flesh under her chin, making her look him right in the eye. She's never seen anything so terrible and so beautiful. "That is the case exactly never."

"Well, you would know," she manages as his grip tightens slightly. "You are the God of Lying and all that."

She can't remember if that title is part of the actual Norse mythology or not. Her father's stories were always a little bit off from legend, not that she's thought about all this in years.

Damn, all the booze is making her chatty.

His grin falters. He drops his hand and swirls the liquid in the glass. With great trepidation he brings the wine to his lips, taking a sip. There is no grimace, so Ellie assumes her alcohol meets his expectations, even if her apartment does not.

They both slip into silence for a moment. The concentration of his gaze should be uncomfortable, but Ellie is too distracted by his cheekbones to care much.

"I will discover your intentions, pretender," he whispers. The words are deathly serious and a shiver runs up Ellie's spine; desire or fear, she can't tell.

She finishes her wine, sets the glass on a crate next to her one easy chair, and slowly approaches him. He seems to watch every part of her all at once, and with unprecedented intensity. She stops with mere inches separating their bodies, placing a hand over his heart, surprised at its rapid fluttering. She expected something more like a base drum, but is instead met with a butterfly flapping its delicate little wings. He tenses under her palm, and for the first time she sees something dangerously close to fear in his eyes.

Tilting her chin to her chest and staring up at him with large, bright eyes, she gives him that look, the one that's never failed her.

"My dear God of Mischief," she murmurs, letting her hand trail down his chest, pausing for a moment at his belt buckle before reaching her destination. She palms him, satisfied to feel him half hard and to see his eyes go wide. "I believe my intentions are perfectly clear."

His sharp little intake of breath makes her pulse quicken. The way he hunches his shoulders and leans down allows her to stretch up on her toes and kiss the corner of his mouth. It's slow and sweet and painfully chaste, but holds promises for so much more.

He is cooler than she expected. Not cold exactly, no more than a few degrees off but enough to be noticeable. Chilly. His skin is chilly. Like his eyes.

Maybe this is just another side effect of her drunk. Or maybe this is the result of keeping her thermostat as low as possible to save a few bucks on the electric every month.

He blinks down at her, apparently confused by her sudden tender demonstration. She smiles and kisses him again, this time fully on the mouth.

Despite all her showy confidence when she kisses him her cold, dead heart lurches in a way that terrifies her. His hesitance is shockingly endearing, but when he finally opens to her she wonders what she's getting herself into here.

Surely, this feels like more than a one night stand in the worst possible way.

But then Loki's hand once more wraps around the delicate column of her neck, his thumb caressing her collarbone this time. He deepens the kiss, makes it almost brutal but also so good it steals both her balance and breath.

And Ellie forgets.

All plans to control the encounter the way she usually would leave her mind. He kisses her in a way that makes her lose sense of self. Her world narrows to the one place where his lips touch hers. He caresses her and the world gets a little bigger, expanding to include the skin under his hands and the aching between her legs.

She reaches out to grab his hips for balance and sinks her teeth into his lower lip. A low moan rumbles in his throat and he pulls her a little closer, his hand on the small of her back. His fingertips dig into the shimmering gold fabric of her ridiculously unflappery dress, but he seems content to just kiss her into oblivion.

She gets impatient, pushing the black jacket from his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice when she yanks off his dark green scarf, nor when her fingers work the buttons of his shirt and pull at his tie.

Ellie rests her palm over his heart once more, marveling at the way his cool skin seems to set her on fire, and he stops, his whole body held still. She lets out a little whimper at the loss, pouting at him as he straightens to his full, intimidating height. Her hand stays on his chest.

He has hate in his eyes now, and she cannot fathom what she could have possibly done to put it there.

An insane urge to offer comfort blooms in her and she has to stifle the soothing words on the tip of her tongue.

Studying him intently, she can almost pinpoint the exact moment he withdraws. He seems to retreat into himself, leaving something angry and suspicious in his eyes.

Pulling on the mask. Ellie would know. She basically lives in the fucking mask.

"What game are you playing here, she devil?" he asks. The low whisper makes her shiver again, but this time Ellie knows it's from fear.

She just shakes her head, not having the words to properly express her confusion or her dismay at the loss of his passionate kisses.

With a growl of absolute rage he grabs the tops of her arms, pushing her backwards into the dresser in the bedroom portion of her small studio apartment. She winces when the wood digs into her back, but says nothing. Not even a squeak of fear escapes her lips.

She's not nearly as afraid as she should be. Fear would be a welcome feeling. It's been so long since she was anything but apathetic.

Today is the one day she can't drown out the crushing depression and she can't stand it, the pain driving her once more to do something stupid crazy.

Eight years have changed nothing.

Ellie does not beg. Ellie does not plead or offer an explanation. The word "stop" is certainly never uttered, even as his hands dig into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. She doesn't even wince.

He hoists her on top of the dresser, and she does nothing but stare at him, cocking her head to the side as she tries to figure him out. She's gone silent again as her drunken mind attempts to comprehend this startling switch.

Where did his glass of wine go? Did the glass just disappear?

"You prefer not to speak, pretender?" he hisses, hate and poison spitting with every syllable. "So be it. There are ways to ensure you spill every last secret."

What secret? She has none that would concern him. He can do his worst. He'll get nothing from her that matters.

Nothing about her matters.

Her eyes go wide once more as he violently pushes up the hem of her dress and rips her black thong clear off her body.

Although her mouth pops open in shock, she manages to stay silent until his fingers are between her legs. They are talented and a degree too chilly, but Ellie cries out as she arches to get closer, needing more. He works her for a moment, movements sure and firm. Teeth sink into the junction of her neck and shoulder, making her moan and push closer.

He moves his hand slowly, fingers curling in a way that has her hips jerking.

This time when she lets out a groan it's born of frustration as much as lust.

It's absolute torture, the way he gets her so close but then backs off at the last possible moment. Time gets lost and it feels like an eternity of his teasing. Ellie is on the verge of tears in her frustration.

And it seems to go on for days.

She'd kill him for doing this to her if she didn't need him so much.

"Please," she says weakly. Her head falls forward onto his shoulder and he pulls her hips to the edge of the dresser.

"From where do you hail?" he asks, sounding perfectly unaffected, as if he is discussing the weather with acquaintances over coffee.

"Wha—"

He withdraws his hand completely, wiping his fingers on her work dress. She whimpers, wanting what he continues to deny her so badly her bones hurt.

"From what realm do you hail?" he repeats, an edge to his voice now.

"I don't…" she stutters. "I don't understand. North Carolina. I'm from Mt. Airy, North Carolina. Please."

Nothing important, whispers her last rational thought. Give him nothing that matters.

Truth spills from her lips, but unimportant truth.

The man called Loki slams her head into the wall behind the dresser with his hand on her neck, but she doesn't feel it with the rest of her body burning.

"Tell. The. Truth," he hisses.

Her eyes narrow as the first hints of real anger trickle into her frazzled, desperate consciousness.

"Born and raised," she insists, daring him to ask again with her tone. She glares at him like no one has ever glared before.

For a fraction of a second his grip on her neck tightens and she is well and truly scared. She feels extreme fear for the first time in this bizarre encounter, but doesn't have long to process it because she can breathe again and he's somehow inside her, so deep she cries out from that glorious combination of pleasure and pain.

Ellie shudders around him, throwing her head back and attempting to move closer. With strong hands he pins her hips to the smooth surface of her dresser, coaxing a desperate mewling from her throat.

He stays so still inside her, causing Ellie's desperation to get that much stronger.

"Who are you?"

"Move," she answers with a slight growl, nails digging into his arms and legs locking around his waist. It's no good. She's too tiny and he's too strong.

One hard thrust and he withdraws completely. She whimpers and curses him under her breath. The sheen of sweat on her body does nothing to cool her down. The overwhelming need she feels in this moment hurts. It's like nothing she's ever experienced, and before tonight she thought she'd done it all.

She tries to shut down, to pull on a mask of her own, to keep her body from wanting, but it's no use. He's stoked such a need in her. Later the strength of her reaction to his cruel touch will scare her, but for now she can't do anything but want and need and burn.

Oh, how she hates him.

"Again and for the last time," he says, voice low and deadly now. Loki grabs her face with more force than necessary, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him. "Who are you?"

"Ellie!" she says with an anguished cry, not understanding anything. Tears dampen her cheeks. "I'm Eleanor Marie Tate. Please!"

She is totally broken and distraught. Everything hurts, she wants so much.

Her honesty and earnestness is rewarded with another ruthless thrust. She hovers on the edge, hating him for denying her this.

"What are you?"

“What?" she screams. Her body is so tightly wound it is painful and still he keeps her hips pinned, motionless as he hovers against her entrance. She can feel him there, so close, taunting her, tormenting her.

"What are you!" he booms. Ellie sees something in his eyes again, something almost like fear. For a moment they appear green. It was how he looked when she kissed the corner of his mouth. "What do you want?"

"I'm Ellie!" she says, her voice a strangled whimper. Her fingernails dig into his forearms. "I'm just some girl."

A long, painful pause.

"And what do you want?" he hisses.

" _You_."

The simple word is spoken with such conviction, and the strange man before her seems to crumble. He hauls her once more into his arms, staggering the few feet to her twin bed in the corner. All four of her limbs squeeze him as he falls forward, laying her down in a way that would have been gentle if it weren't for his behavior moments before.

He doesn't look at her and he doesn't kiss her, even as he starts to move inside her, steady and deep. She hitches her legs higher on his hips and he groans. She lets out a relieved sob as he finally lets her push back.

When he moves, she moves, setting a rhythm that is punishing and perfect.

An arm comes around her lower back, pulling her closer and tilting her hips at an angle that has her crying out again.

She wants to see his face, but instead she closes her eyes and surrenders her body to the infuriating, baffling, and terrifying stranger inside her.

The noises and feelings he coaxes from her are foreign, despite her plethora of experience, but really she has nothing to compare it too. Nothing has been like this.

She doesn't like it, but in this moment she needs it.

She doesn't last long, nor did she expect to, given how he tormented her. He follows soon after, letting out an unearthly cry that Ellie finds almost as beautiful as his unearthly face.

For a moment her mind is blissfully blank. Her body continues to shudder and shake with lingering pleasure, his full weight cocooning her small frame.

But far too soon she comes back to herself and panic claws at her throat.

What the fuck was that?

The man who claims to be the God of Mischief seems perfectly content to just lie there suffocating her all night, and Ellie shoves at his shoulders with as much force as her weak, exhausted, somewhat traumatized body can muster.

He is so much stronger than her. He might be so much stronger than anyone. That much is apparent from their little encounter.

He stirs and seems to just notice her presence trapped under him. Taking far more time than Ellie would like, he pushes his long body off and away from hers. He ends up kneeling at the end of her bed, his expression unfathomable.

She sits up too, not even bothering to tug her dress down. From the waist up she looks perfectly normal, as if she just stepped off the stage, but all the exposed flesh below the waist tells a very different story.

She stares at him for a long moment, waiting for anything that could possibly clarify his actions, but gets nothing. He looks at his hands.

Everything that just happened – the way he grabbed her neck and controlled her mobility and manipulated her traitorous body and made her say things, made her need him – it all freaks her out.

An instrument and her voice. That's all Ellie has needed in a long time. She won't let that change now.

Without really thinking about the wisdom of provoking the obviously disturbed man in her bed, Ellie wheels back and slaps him across the face with enough force to send his head snapping to the side.

Her palm burns, but she hides her wince behind a death glare.

For a moment the whole world stops as fury blazes in his eyes, but then his features shift into a cocky, mischievous smirk, as if it was all one big game.

He gets up and turns on his heel, bending to pick up his jacket in the middle of the room without even stopping his forward motion towards the exit as he fixes his pants.

She jumps when he slams the door behind him and slowly slides down off the bed and onto the floor, pulling her legs to her chin. She sits in dismayed silence for a long time. The shakes come and Ellie finds it impossible to get warm.

It's the same. Exactly the same. Eight years later and nothing has changed. She got sad and low and made a terrible decision, but there was no fake daddy to call this time.  He's gone and Ellie is disturbingly the same with the exception of a self-loathing that's done nothing but multiply tenfold since his death.

She stares at the door and can't get warm.

He forgot his scarf. It sits just where she left it in the middle of her depressing room on her grey, thin, suspiciously stained carpet.

When Ellie regains enough feeling in her legs she approaches the remaining evidence of their encounter with great caution. She circles the item, but leaves it there, not wanting to touch it.

 


	2. May Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

In May he finds her once more.

It is difficult given her annoying and perplexing ability to keep him from skimming her thoughts, but he manages to keep track of her through the weak-minded mortals close to her, the men who provide the mediocre music that accompanies her voice nightly in the drinking establishment where he first discovered her.

He finds loitering in their minds to be almost as repugnant as the fact that he sullied himself in her mortal flesh, that he allowed himself to be duped by a seemingly wondrous creature who turned out to be _just a girl_.

Although he still does not quite believe it even if she surrendered what she believes to be her truth.

In the aftermath of their encounter he expected her to be shaken to the core, but upon further observation it seems he hardly left an impression. From what he can gather from the minds of those near her, she remains irritatingly undisturbed, as quiet and compelling as she claimed to be that night.

Surely there are none, mortal or otherwise, who can use sex to garner the truth quite like the God of Lies. He refuses to believe the occurrence was commonplace for her, despite her obvious experience and confidence in such nighttime activities.

Oh, how he loathes her.

She is a distraction from his master plans, one he cannot keep from indulging in. How dare she infiltrate his conscious in such a way? What makes her so special as to deserve even a moment in his thoughts?

He tries to remember if another ever had a similar effect on his concentration, but searching his memories has become a painful task since he encountered the Other and he finds himself avoiding the past, thinking only on the slights to his person, and those he must punish, the only bearable course of action.

When he first spotted her he did not see how it could merely be a happy coincidence. He was so sure that she was something extraordinary, something like him. She opened her pretty little mouth and the voice that came out was unlike anything he'd heard before, in any realm.

There he was, carefully observing the ridiculous Man of Iron in a social setting to develop an understanding of those who might oppose his future plans, when he happened upon something distinctly not human.

Because there is no conceivable way that voice could be merely mortal.

To Loki, there was only one possible answer. She was there for him, to derail his glorious purpose before he could even truly begin.

Her voice was the stuff of divinity and because of it he labeled her pretender, some higher being playing at mortality.

He attempted to magically uncover her secrets, only to find that access to her mind barred to him. Frustrated, he sought to determine her origin, but only came up with a flavor vaguely Asgardian, something truly impossible.

"I'm just some girl," she told him later, when she was totally at his mercy.

He drove the truth from her pretty pert lips and then wished he hadn't. Not knowing was far preferable.

He was so sure she was something extraordinary, something like him.

Loki knows lies and there were none in the girl when she confessed this most horrible of truths.

Eleanor Tate, the creature in the gold dress who possesses a voice unlike any heard in all nine realms, believes herself to be _human_.

But how could something so plain sing like her? And more importantly how was she keeping him out of her head? It is so very easy to flit into the consciousness of this weak-minded race, but something about this one Midgardian bested him, prevented the mental manipulation he spent centuries perfecting.

Although it is more common among the Aesir, no simple human could prevent him from knowing that way; but here was all the evidence, clearly pointing to a truly disgusting truth.

Eleanor Tate of Mt. Airy, North Carolina is woefully and pathetically human.

Somehow, even weak and subjugated and begging for him, this "just a girl" bested him, and for this she will pay dearly.

It is nearly time now, and he will have her there all the way through, giving her time to thoroughly understand her role as his before he takes this whole world as well.

But he will not touch her again. No, he will not debase himself within the sweaty flesh of a mortal, even if part of him remains unconvinced of her woeful normality.

She will sing on command. He finds the voice soothing and necessary, a true prize. Perhaps it will bring him enough peace for sleep to finally come. He is so weary, but his dreams bring him no peace, just confusion and pain.

Loki descends the stairs of the grimy venue, dismayed that his little songbird currently resides in such a place. It smells of rotten ale and stale smoke and the body fluids of thousands of unclean mortals.

Why would someone so elegant and so talented be found here, in such a repulsive location? He remembers her dark and dank single room dwelling, but at least that was clean.

At the bottom of the stairs a large man dressed in black demands Loki present identification in exchange for entrance. A few words allow him to pass without producing whatever the Midgardian was asking for.

There are no windows and scarcely any light save for the illuminated bar area in the back and the small stage in the front. From wall to wall it is nothing but a sea of mortals. He longs to twitch his hand and part them like the sheep they are, but it is not quite time for the world to know of his presence among them yet, and such an action would garner unwanted attention.

There are too many to find the girl in this hovel; someone has the audacity to tread on his shoe, and he turns to leave, deciding that this is not the opportune moment to take what became his the moment he saw her on that stage in a shining dress of gold.

Crude earthly instruments blare through speakers and he attempts to tune them out as he makes slow progress back to the stairs he descended minutes before, but then her voice joins them, crisp and clear despite the cacophony of noise accompanying her.

His head whips towards the source, but he can't spot her. The woman at the strange stick used to amplify noises is far from the neat creature whose movements he's been tracking for months now.

Her immense blond hair is everywhere, covering large portions of her face as she moves her hips in a way that borders on indecent. There is no formal wear tonight, only a pair of blue pants so tight and full of so many holes, it seems to defeat the purpose of clothing one’s self at all. The white accompanying tank top leaves little to the imagination, and a strip of tanned flesh is displayed as she moves her arms above her head.

She is so slight. Just a girl, indeed.

But the voice, there could be no other with it and the tones are burned into Loki's brain.

" _And I can feel it behind my eyes like a beckoning light when I'm dreaming_ ," she croons, hands twitching and contorted at her sides.

Nothing seems to remain of the elegant girl in the pretty dresses, smiling and flirting as she sings to droves of intoxicated men. Well, the droves of intoxicating men remain, and the voice is obviously the same, just containing an edge that was absent before.

She moves her shoulders to the beat and closes her eyes as she sings. There is anger in this mortal, passion that he saw only in her bedroom, but never on the other stage.

Loki abhors this loud, hard music. It is artless, rough and devoid of talent, save for the voice. He wonders how these hordes of pathetic Midgardians prevent their ears from bleeding.

When the crowd cheers at the end of the horrible excuse for a song, it is not because the torment is over but because they demand another.

Loki doubts he will ever have the desire to understand them, and resolves to shape the culture here more to his tastes.

The male with a guitar strapped around his shoulders thanks the audience, and Loki's songbird sips a drink as she settles herself at a strange instrument that appears similar to a piano, but missing by half. It is just the keys, but nothing else.

Loki's blood boils with rage when it becomes apparent that the male will sing on this song, joined only by the girl in the background. A special form of torture will be reserved for this arrogant Midgardian when Loki is king. The songbird will never sing second to any.

His hate is only cooled slightly when he learns that her skills on the device that sounds like a piano are nearly on par with her voice, but he returns to a homicidal state all over again during the next song.

She abandons the piano for this number and sings in tandem with the male guitar player. Although the finer points of the lyrics are beyond his understanding, it is very apparently sexual in nature. The singing pair look at each other and move suggestively as they sing, and Loki slithers through the crowd until he finds himself in the front of the mass of writhing bodies, standing just below the girl.

Although she's very good at hiding it, she notices him straight away. He stares up at her coolly, and her eyes go wide for a moment before she carefully composes herself once more. Her voice does not falter, and Loki is disappointed that he has not managed to fluster her further.

She is very good at wearing the mask, he observes. Despite all that surely must be raging within her at his sudden reappearance, she appears perfectly unbothered. If he were a mere mortal he would think that she didn't even remember him at all.

But it is exceedingly difficult to deceive the God of Lies.

The way her body moves is strange to him. He supposes this is some version of dancing. Somehow she manages to be jerky and sensual and fluid all at once. Gone are the delicate mannerisms produced on the other stage.

He plots the painful death for the male guitar player as the masses of mortals partake in some sort of barbaric mating dance around him. The number currently being performed is obviously something of a favorite, and seems to send the crowd into a sort of frenzy as they dare to sing in time with the songbird, their joined voices often obscuring her far superior one.

Too many lecherous eyes follow what belongs to him, too many to plot all their painful ends in the manner they deserve.

Much to his irritation, her gaze does not wander to his once during the remainder of the performance, not even as the mortals that pass for musicians on this uncultured speck of rock take their final bows and exit stage right.

* * *

 

He tracks her to an alley using the mind of her male counterpart, but once again fails to recognize her when he arrives at his destination. She has pulled a knit black cap over her bright hair, so tight that it conforms to the globe of her head. Her shoulders are now covered with a shapeless flannel and a foul smelling cigarette resides between her slim, delicate fingers.

But a few wild blond strands escape the hat she wears, and he recognizes the slouched posture in her overly small frame. Silently he approaches, and her companion regards him with wary eyes, but doesn't alert her to his presence.

"So, my little songbird," he murmurs directly into her ear. Her shoulders tense for a moment before she turns towards him. "What compels a creature as talented as you to sing in a place as dilapidated as this? They are beneath you, every last one of them. Just as you are below me."

She tilts her chin down and looks up at him from under thick eyelashes. He's seen this expression before, but he still finds the intensity and perception disquieting, especially when she drags her gaze up the length of his frame, silently surveying him.

For a moment her sculpted mouth twitches up into a half smile, but then her face goes blank once more and she regards him impassively.

"Can we help you, dude?" the guitarist says. Loki shoots him a look of loathing, but the mortal is too stupid and too drunk to recognize the danger. "You're crowding my singer."

Loki never lets his gaze wander from the eyes of brightest blue now regarding him with boredom, but he hears the male's attempt at possession.

She shakes her head at him, and makes to turn back to her compatriot, but Loki restrains her movements with a strong hand on her elbow. She glares at said hand, and then back up into his face.

"Come with me," he murmurs, keeping his voice low enough in hopes of their conversation remaining private.

Her chin tilts up this time, a signal of useless defiance that irritates Loki to no end. The smoke she slowly blows in his face is blatantly disrespectful. She will learn, sooner rather than later if she has any sense at all.

His eyes water but he says nothing as he allows his grip to tighten.

"Fuck off," she replies, with painfully annoying sweetness. She gives him a cheerful smile, and turns her face towards the male, even when he keeps her body close.

"Ellie, do you know this creep?" he asks.

"Nope," she says succinctly. The look she gives him clearly indicates that she's failing to tell the truth. She remembers him, despite all her denials.

"Come now, my sweet Eleanor," he says, talking in quiet tones. "Do not lie to the God of Mischief."

She has the audacity to roll her eyes and blow smoke in his face again. His jaw tightens, but he remains silent, biding his time. Soon enough she will learn her place.

Loki is slightly taken aback to see her total lack of fear.

"Name doesn't ring a bell," she insists, continuing to draw smoke out of the little stick between her fingers, pulling it into her lungs. He hides a wince, knowing that this act cannot be healthy for her frail, mortal body. "You don't look even vaguely familiar."

This taunting is deliberate and he will leave bruises on her skin from the strength of his grip, but somehow he manages to give her a sinister smile.

"We depart now," he says, talking low in her ear. She suppresses a shiver, but Loki notices.

Another deep breath from the girl and more smoke is blown in his face.

"You remember me," he insists, losing patience with her act.

"Fuck. Off," she says, mean now. Her struggle against his grip proves laughably futile.

He gives her a maniacal grin, and for a little second her eyes go wide with fear, but then the mask is back, leaving her face blank and composed.

Loki releases her abruptly, and in a flash his hand closes around the neck of the guitarist, slamming the loathsome man back into the brick wall of the nearby building.

"This woefully inept mortal took you to bed," Loki says, talking in conversational tones to the wide-eyed songbird. "How could you not see that he is vastly unworthy of you? He still thinks of it, you know, with great frequency. He wants you again, thinks he's entitled to touch you. I should the crush the life right out of him, stopping the beating of his pathetic mortal heart. He deserves to die, touching what is mine."

Loki hears her sharp little intake of breath, but she says nothing as she rushes over, a little hand tightening on his elbow this time. She tugs fruitlessly.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Come with me," Loki repeats.

"And you'll let him go?"

Loki stifles a sigh. "If you so desire."

"Okay. Fine. Let's go."

Loki tightens his grip enough for the weakling in his grasp to lose consciousness, but the heart continues to beat.

The taking of an unknown musician with no family and few friends to speak of will draw little attention, but murder might complicate their escape.

"Dude!" she admonishes.

"He's not dead," Loki states, grabbing her arm once more and dragging her towards the street. He resists the urge to scream when she looks back at the heap of a guitarist.

"I'm not going with you," she says, attempting to flee and failing to dislodge his grip. "You're a fucking creeper."

"Such language from such beauty," he remarks. "We shall remedy that in due time."

"This is fucking kidnapping," she says, raising her voice to a yell. It is a plea to her fellow pathetic mortals and a futile exercise as no one is near. Loki simply brings an arm around her shoulders, using his other hand to cover her mouth.

He cannot manage to stop grinning when she bites his palm.

The foolish little quim wheels around with all her might and actually punches him in the jaw. Her mobility is limited and her strength is miniscule. He barely feels a thing, but he clearly hears the bones in her fragile hand crack and her cry of pain.

Although she would never notice, he takes care to gently situate her in the car. She struggles in vain, annoying him greatly, but eventually he manages to settle them both in the back before tapping on the partition, indicating that he is ready to drive.

When they are safely on the road he releases his grip on her mouth, but keeps her pressed close to his side.

She tugs in vain on the locked door for a moment but gives up quickly when she makes no progress.

"Frightened yet?" he inquires.

"If I broke my hand on your face I'm going to kill you," she mutters, wincing as she flexes her fingers. He frowns, surprised by her general lack of fear and shock. Without her fear he's unsure of how to proceed.

What flaw plagues this creature? Surely she must recognize the danger at this point.

"To the nearest hospital," Loki commands upon lowering the partition that separates driver from passenger. The man nods, and Loki watches as the girl warily observes the driver's unnaturally blue eyes.

"Yes, sir." And the partition is back up.

The girl pushes him away, letting her head flop back against the leather seat with a thump. She pulls her knees to her chin and closes her eyes, but remains silent.

Loki drums his fingers on his thigh, continuing to frown at her. She ignores him completely, irritating him to no end.

He's spent a good deal of time envisioning this, plotting how the situation would unfold when he finally initiated a reunion with the simple human who wields a mighty voice, and in none of his fantasies did she remain silent.

Although she did warn him of this upon their meeting. She is not overly fond of talking.

This stage of his plan moves with unbearable slowness and Loki has never been a particularly patient god.

At least he doesn't feel like a particularly patient being, although it is difficult to determine anything much about himself from before.

When there is nothing to occupy his mind, memory and pain plagues him, confuses him, distorts his reality. The songbird will fill the mental gaps between plotting each phase, as she has already in the months since their encounter.

He will not stand for her apathy.

Once again she's bested him, slighted him, and he flounders for a solution. He, whose plans to dominate this weak race of mortals will unfold without a hitch, cannot determine how to best proceed with one simple girl.

 _Just_ a girl.

"You are injured," he observes somewhat unnecessarily, taking her hurt hand in his own. His touch is cold, and he hopes it will soothe her injury.

She glares at him, blue eyes narrowed in loathing, and the message he reads there is clear. " _You hurt me, you fool,"_ her eyes seem to say.

"I will remedy this. You seem to be quite adept at coaxing adequate notes from that strange device that attempts to pass as a piano. You will not lose this gift as it will be key to your role in the very near future."

She simply raises an eyebrow at him. This time he can't even imagine what she's trying to convey with this particular expression.

No, she certainly did not lie when she claimed that she prefers not to speak.

"Why do you swath yourself in such unworthy fabrics? It is apparent that you are ill suited to this attire. From now on you will dress elegantly, as you did on the night we met." He's babbling and he knows it, but her silence is unnerving.

Is he easily unnerved? He cannot be sure about anything from before he floated off into the unknown, but it doesn't seem like he's one to be easily unnerved.

She stares at him for another long moment. It's a struggle for him to appear unaffected. There is something about the piercing quality of her stares he finds… deeply unsettling.

But then she sighs, closes her eyes again, and lets her head flop back against the seat again.

"Ninety percent of the time I have no fucking idea what the fuck you are talking about," she mutters, giving him nothing to go on.

He grabs her chin and her shocking blue eyes fly open. Desperate to coax some form of reaction from her, he holds her tighter than he should.

"Such vulgarities are unbecoming for someone with your talents. You will utter no such profanities again. Am I clear?" His voice is a harsh hiss, but still the fear remains absent from her gaze. He hates the bemused expression that settles over her features.

She shrugs, closing her eyes once more. He lets her go, and her forehead falls to her knees. Loki studies the compact way she's folded in on herself, and wonders what in the Hel he was thinking, taking someone so baffling for his own.

He had no understanding of her then, and he has even less now.

With more care than he thought himself capable of given his state of irritation, Loki slips his fingers under her knit cap and removes the offensive object. She shakes out her masses of pale hair and turns away, staring determinedly out the window.

Silence reigns until they reach their destination.

"Huh," she says, her quiet voice almost startling him. "You really did bring me to the hospital. While we're here let's swing by the psych ward, get this nasty delusion checked out."

"Psych ward?" he asks, perplexed. "I know not of this place. And of what delusion do you speak?"

"If you're the Norse God of Mischief and Lies than I'm the fucking Easter Bunny," she says.

He ignores her curse, too perplexed by the words coming out of her usually silent mouth.

_Easter? Bunny?_

"You think I deceive you?"

"I think you deceive yourself."

Loki smiles manically once more, pleased when her eyes go wide. There are traces of fear now.

"Allow me to educate you," he murmurs, moving to exit the car. She attempts to follow, and when she realizes that she'll be left alone in the locked vehicle she lets out a piercing scream, hoping to be heard when he exits.

His hard shove serves to quiet and stun her long enough to allow him out.

* * *

This was bound to happen sooner or later, given her bad habits with men.

It seems her recklessness and utter disregard for her own safety has finally caught up with her. She was bound to hook up with a real psycho. How he managed to find her again remains a mystery at the moment, but the details hardly matter.

The moment he locks her in the car she turns towards the driver with the unnatural glowing blue eyes. After banging on the partition for a full five minutes, begging through the barrier, she finally accepts the fact that her savior does not reside in the front seat.

An image of her phone tucked safely in her purse back at the club flits through her head. All she has in her pockets are a pack of American Spirits and a lighter.

She takes to the doors next, screaming her head off as she yanks on the handle and kicks with all her limited strength against the windows. Although she's been miserably unhappy since before she can remember, she doesn't want to die, and the danger that once drew her to him is now far too great and far too real.

Loki finds her lying with her back on the seat, her feet against the window, screaming herself hoarse. Her rhythmic kicking did nothing but alert him to her desperation to escape.

His smile is terrifying, the look in his eyes unabashedly batshit crazy. Some instinct is telling her to remain emotionless and calm, to give him nothing that matters.

It has turned into a mantra of sorts since that first night. Give him nothing that matters. Give him nothing important.

Slowly and with as much dignity as a captive in her position can hope to muster, she sits up and slides to the far end of the bench seat.

"Oh, if only it were that easy, my little songbird," he murmurs.

She's grown to despise the nickname and she's always fucking hated birds.

She watches in bemusement as Loki steps back, but before she can make another scramble for freedom a small man in a white lab coat enters the car, sitting directly across from Ellie.

She can't conceal a shiver of immense apprehension when she sees his eyes, the same glowing blue of the driver.

Loki joins them, closing the door behind him. Ellie takes great care to ensure that as much space as possible remains between their bodies.

"Hey, doc," Ellie says, refusing to even look at the psychopath next to her. "This is a kidnapping you've just stumbled on. Think you could help a girl out?"

Loki actually snorts, a sound she didn't think she's ever heard from someone as elegant as him.

Only he's not really elegant anymore. Maybe it was the booze, but the polished individual she was stupid enough to take home three months ago is barely recognizable in the sharp features of her kidnapper. His dark hair is slicked back but it does nothing to hide the ratty, jagged mess in the back. He is clothed in black leather instead of an expensive suit, making him look like an evil, oversized bat with a very pale, almost grey, face.

And he has a stylish cane that seems to have no practical use. There is no limp in his prowling gait.

The doctor says nothing, does nothing to acknowledge that she's even opened her mouth, but he does reach out for her hand. She winces as he touches her bruised knuckles. Gently he coaxes her hand into a fist.

"It's not broken," he says. "Merely bruised. Ice and perhaps an Ibuprofen and she'll be fine in no time."

Ellie can do nothing but gape. The situation has taken on a quality of the surreal.

"Good," says Loki, nodding. "You may go."

Eleanor could have easily told him that herself. Her bones don't break, at least not so far. She's sturdier than she looks and a quick healer.

"As you wish," replies the doctor, already exiting the car. "Goodnight, my king."

_King? Really, what the fuck is going on here?_

Her shock is so great she forgets to scream for help during the brief moment the car door is open.

"You're totally crazy," she murmurs, tucking her chin to her chest once more.

"I'm burdened with glorious purpose," he corrects.

"I can't believe I had sex with you."

"Likewise," he says, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "Although you should be thankful for the opportunity to lie with a powerfully superior being such as myself."

"Batshit crazy."

"Hold your tongue, mortal."

She does just that for the remainder of the car ride.

* * *

They long ago left the city behind.

That much is apparent to Ellie when they come to a stop and Loki yanks her out of the vehicle. The pressure of his hand on her elbow is painful and she considers once more screaming for help, but he covers her mouth with a palm.

Their destination appears to be some sort of abandoned industrial facility. Loki hauls her along, giving her no time to get any sort of grip on her surroundings. The driver pulls off, leaving them to the entrance and a steep staircase that seems to go all the way down into the bowels of the earth. Following the stairs is a long brick tunnel. Ellie stumbles to keep up with Loki's long stride, tripping occasionally over cracked concrete and damp earth.

As they walk she hopes a rotting chunk of ceiling falls on his head. It seems entirely plausible. This place is a fucking ruin.

The journey isn't far, although it feels like miles to Ellie, and eventually the corridor opens into a larger brick space with high ceilings that is bursting with activity. Construction crews are busy at work, erecting what appears to be some sort of lab.

Ellie doesn't notice that the eyes of several of these people glow blue until she screams at the top of her lungs.

"Help! I've been kidnapped!"

There is silence for only one short moment as everyone turns to look at her. The lull in the activity only lasts a second and the work continues on as if there was never an interruption.

Ellie tries to beat down the stirrings of utter panic, but a cry of incredulity and frustration escapes her lips, garnering the attention of her captor.

"You are embarrassing yourself," he comments with complete and total disdain.

Ellie feels faint.

"What is this?" she asks, failing to keep her voice steady. "Why did you bring me here? Who are all these people? Who _are_ you?"

Loki smiles that horrible and beautiful smile of his. "These are many questions from a mortal who claims an aversion to speech," he says, hissing in her ear. She shivers, but he doesn't let her move away. "You need not know of these people or their work. I brought you here for your voice and because I do not trust what you claim to be. I need to keep you under observation, and from interfering with my plans. And you know full well who I am."

"Loki," she spits out, taunting him. "God of Lies. But really you're the fucking pretender. You're just some sick, small man, deluding yourself into thinking you’re special."

Probably not the wisest words, but Ellie is scared and mad and tired and confused.

_Don't give him anything important, don't give him anything that matters._

Enraged now, he grabs the hair at the back of her head, making her cry out. He pulls her face towards his, looming over her with sharp, angry eyes. Her nails dig into his wrists, trying to pry his hands away or loosen his grip, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Do not mock me, Eleanor Tate," he says, voice low but calm. He smiles when she lets out a wail as the grip in her hair tightens. "I am who I claim to be. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you accept that you are mine now, the sooner you accept me as king, the more pleasant your life will be."

She wants to tell him that her life is never pleasant, no matter the crazy-ass circumstance, but she stays quiet, focusing instead on centering herself. She withdraws, shutting down her emotions one by one until she's detached completely.

In the last eight years, ever since leaving home in the dead of night, she's been numb. It started before that really, but not feeling became something of a perpetual state for Ellie. Maybe that is why she brought him home in the first place. From the start he made her feel something, but now she understands that the feeling was definitely not good.

She gets back to the numbness now.

With a grunt of disgust, Loki tosses Ellie to the ground. She sits up, rubbing absently at the back of her head and watching him impassively.

"Still, you don't believe?"

The slight twitch of her eyebrow gives him an answer. No, she doesn't believe. He is no god and no king, just a sick man she had the misfortune to take to bed once upon a time.

With an army of worker bees, several with freaky glowing eyes.

Loki smirks and then calls to a passing worker.

"Have they returned?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fetch the new recruit."

Ellie watches with wide eyes as his cane changes before her eyes into something curved and sinister.

She blinks rapidly at the scepter, not believing what is in front of her. It hovers in the air for a moment before Loki grabs it. He runs a finger along the curved top that looks more like a blade than anything. It houses an eerie glowing ball of light, similar to the driver's eyes.

Loki sighs in contentment.

"You know nothing, my little songbird," he murmurs as she shakily gets to her feet. She can't seem to take her eyes off the scepter. It is beautiful and horrible and seems to radiate energy. "But you will learn to fear me as you love me. I will show you true power."

A group of men, with normal, albeit mean, eyes escort a beaten and terrified man towards Loki. He wears pajamas, as if he was dragged from bed. Although Ellie has managed to keep her wits about her, this man very obviously has not. He cries and pleads and screams, completely taken over by fear and desperation.

"This is Mr. Cutter?" Loki asks, obviously unimpressed.

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent," Loki says, turning once more to Ellie. "Watch carefully now, Eleanor. If you continue with your insolence and disrespect I will completely remove all your sense of self, a blessing really. I could remove the burden of freedom from your being, give you insight you never dreamed of, but still, not something you are smart enough to court yourself. Continue to go against me and this will be your fate."

Once more, he has totally lost her.

Languidly, Loki places the point of the scepter against the man's chest. For a moment Ellie thinks Loki means to kill him, to run him through with the sharp tip, but the man simply gasps as a rippling blue light seems to bloom over his chest and his eyes go pitch black before turning that radiant, troubling blue.

He goes silent as the grave, all cries for help cutting off abruptly.

"Are you a believer yet, my little songbird?"

She bites the inside of her cheek so hard it bleeds to keep herself from giving him a reaction. She wants to scream and demand answers and maybe puke on her captor's shiny black shoes, but she refuses to give him anything that matters.

"So difficult to impress," Loki murmurs, shaking his head at her. "Fine. You need more, and more you shall have."

Ellie feels no relief when Loki turns back to the man standing still, seemingly devoid of any life.

"Mr. Cutter," Loki says, studying his nails.

"Yes, sir?"

"There is a knife on that table. Kindly fetch it."

The man does as he's told and stands still in front of Loki, blade dangling from his hand at his side.

"Please bring the knife to your jugular."

Ellie's stomach lurches as the man does just that.

"Press upon the tip hard enough to draw only a drop of blood."

A small whimper passes the man's lips as he pierces his own skin, but his face remains hauntingly blank.

"Tell me, mortal," Loki says, slowly moving to stand directly behind Ellie. She remembers when she craved his closeness, but now his hot breath against her ear repulses her to no end. "Do you believe? Or shall our dear Mr. Cutter be forced to take his own life for you to truly understand?"

Ellie whimpers now, a tear escaping her eyes. Loki wipes it away with his finger, bringing the liquid to his lips.

"Don't kill him," she whispers. "Don't kill anyone."

"But you do not know this man. Why exactly do you care?"

Ellie gapes at him. "I don't want him to die. No one deserves what you are doing to him here."

Something flashes in Loki's eyes, but before Ellie can attempt to decode it the wild is back in his gaze. Already Ellie has observed him flicking in and out of madness.

"Do you need more proof, Eleanor Tate?"

Another trickle of blood flows down this Mr. Cutter's neck, disappearing into his pajamas.

She shakes her head. No, this is all the proof she needs. God of Mischief or no, this Loki has so much power it terrifies her.

"Say it," he demands.

"I don't need any more proof," she whispers, choking on her tears now.

"Louder!"

"I believe, okay!"

"I am Loki of Asgard and I mean to rule this world."

"You are Loki of Asgard," she repeats, having no idea what he's going on about.

"Good girl." His smile makes his skin crawl. "Mr. Cutter? That is quite enough. Return the blade and retire to the barracks. There is much work to be done on the morrow."

The group disperses, leaving Loki and Ellie alone in the still bustling space.

"I will take your identity," he murmurs in her ear. "I will take everything and your eyes will be even more blue than they are now. First you will be mine, and then your realm."

She takes a deep breath, turning to look at him from under thick eyelashes. "An alien then," she drawls, because she finally does believe. "Trying to take over the world. How very original."

His eyes flash. His palm connects with her face. She is falling and there is a splitting burst of pain in her head. Then everything goes black.

Ellie finds she prefers it this way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in this chapter are from Dreaming by Grant Sabin


	3. Made Over

When Ellie opens her eyes she’s disappointed to see that it wasn’t all just a terrible dream. 

She was really, really counting on this all being a terrible and bizarre dream.

The first thing she takes in is Loki, studying her critically mere inches from her face.  She sits up, surprised to find herself on top of the covers of a neatly made bed in a small but beautifully furnished bedroom.  He sits perched on the edge of the mattress, looking bored. She thinks about scooting away from him but refrains, knowing that it would only give him some sick, twisted form of pleasure.

“You are truly a weakling to succumb to your injuries so quickly,” Loki comments. 

“You hit me.”

“It was barely a tap.”

Ellie sighs and leans back against the headboard.

“I failed to anticipate the speed of your fall,” he murmurs.  “Your head smacking against the floor proved your undoing.”

Her fingers find the lump on the back of her skull, in the very spot he had a grip on her hair, and her eyes narrow. 

With a sigh Loki grabs something off the bedside table and moves closer, his arm coming around her.  She tenses, startled by his proximity.  A shiver runs through her body as he holds an ice pack against the back of her head.

“And for your hand,” he says, handing her another.

She studies it for a long moment, wary of him still, before grabbing it and settling the ice over her swollen knuckles.  She nods in thanks, but remains silent.

“And for your cheek.”

She snorts and shakes her head.  The ice pack situation is getting ridiculous so she’ll just deal with this bruise later.

The madness so prevalent in his blue eyes when he hit her is absent now, replaced by a sort of quiet confusion.  Ellie resolves to do nothing to bring out the crazy again.

“Do aliens often attempt to take over Midgard?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow.  He’s lost her again.

“This realm,” he corrects.  “Do aliens often attempt to take over this realm?”

A hint of a smile graces her lips and she just shrugs. 

It doesn’t seem necessary to explain the reference a reoccuring plot device in American pop culture when it was this same thing that to caused him enough anger to smack her unconscious.

“You prefer not to speak,” he says quietly, as if he is reminding himself of this fact.  Her smile becomes a little more pronounced. 

They sit in silence for a several minutes.  He continues to hold the ice pack to her head until she remembers what it was like to be in his arms, the pleasurable part, not the scary as fuck part.  It’s too uncomfortable, and she reaches up to take the pack herself.  Their fingers brush and Ellie almost blushes. 

Loki looks away.

“Surely you must be wondering of your purpose here, at the start of my new regime,” he says, getting up to pace in the small space at the foot of the bed.  Her eyes follow his movements but she remains silent.  “Or perhaps it is obvious.”

He looks at her then, pausing his somewhat frantic movements.  She gives him one slow shake of the head and the pacing continues.

Nothing about the man or god or whatever before her is even remotely obvious.

“Very slow intellectually, you Midgardians,” he mutters under his breath. 

Ellie rolls her eyes, knowing full well that he isn’t looking at her in this moment.

 _Give him nothing that matters_ , she reminds herself.  He can insult humankind all he wants.  What’s it to her?

“I have not the time to indulge in life’s pleasure.”  At her sharp little intake of breath Loki looks at her again.  Her eyes are wide and terrified once more.  “Foolish girl,” he admonishes.  “I do not speak of carnal pleasures.  Now that you have given me your truth what other possible reason could I have for sullying myself in your disgusting, mortal flesh?  If you even are mortal.  I’m still not convinced on that point.”

Ellie doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended.  She settles on confused. 

“You keep saying that,” she says.  He looks a little taken aback to hear her speak.  “You don’t think I’m a human?”  The notion is absurd to her, but this has been a running theme during her time with Loki from the very beginning.  “Why don’t you think I’m human?”

What else could she possibly be?

An alien.  Like him.

She feels sick.

“I have my reasons,” he says, being cryptic as ever.  “I know you think yourself a simple mortal but your voice gives you away.  The beauty and quality of your tone is beyond the possible natural ability of a Midgardian.”

She actually gives him a smile, a real, true smile.  Occasionally he says some pretty great things, even if he is a fucking lunatic who has been smacking her around. 

A lunatic because he doesn’t think she’s human.  Of course she’s a human.

Every time she sees him, Ellie ends up sore.

“How is it that you’ve managed to distract me from my original message?” he asks her, cocking his head to the side as he studies her.  In this moment he looks just as perplexed as she feels.  She shifts, uncomfortable under his gaze, and the pacing resumes once more.  “I was once a very devoted follower of the arts, and you will provide this for me.  You will sing.”

She stares at him blankly. 

Surely he isn’t telling her that he assaulted her band mate, slapped her twice, almost broke her hand, and nearly forced a man to commit suicide all for her voice.

“Do you hear me, Eleanor?” he asks.  She nods and squints at him.  “You will sing.”

“That’s… it?” she asks finally, still attempting to get her head around all this.

Aliens exist.  There are other “realms” out there, one called Asgard, whatever that means.  Powers beyond her wildest dreams have been endowed to one called Loki, and he intends to use it to rule Earth.

And he simply wants her to sing.  It’s her favorite thing to do in the world, as easy and necessary as breathing.  It’s her passion and her life’s singular joy and the bizarre being wants her to do it.

That’s it.  He wants her to do the one thing she loves.

And he is capable of magical, wicked things.

Rather unbelievable, but she remembers the blood tricking down the man’s neck into his pajamas from the spot left by the knife he held himself.  She remembers his grunt of pain combined with his calm, impassive face and that haunting glowing gaze.

“For now,” Loki murmurs.  “In due time the whole world will hear your voice.  Important beings will recognize you in an instant, and you will be mine.  Appealing, isn’t it?”

He promises fame, a place in his new world order, and the opportunity to be his trained monkey.

“Horrifying,” Ellie corrects.

“Pardon?”

“I can literally not think of anything worse than the whole world hearing me sing,” she says.  “The thought of the whole world knowing I exist at all makes me feel sick.”

Also that bit about belonging to him is obviously not going to fly, but she is smart enough to keep her mouth shut on that point.

Loki’s eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline.  They spend a moment staring at each other until he abruptly turns on his heel and exits the room.

His sudden departure leaves her stunned for a moment, and she braces herself for his return, fully expecting him to storm in and slap her and yell at her and forbid her from cursing.

After ten minutes Ellie finally allows her body to relax.  This proves to be a mistake.  As the adrenalin leaves her system, everything seems to hit her all at once.  Her hand hurts, her head aches, and a megalomaniac demigod has plans that involve her singing to the entire world.

Ellie tips over, goes fetal, and sobs into the soft pillow he provided for her.

She misses the numb.

* * *

 

Despite all he has witnessed, all he has learned in the last year, old habits he did not even know existed emerge in this moment of confusion, and Loki’s first instinct upon slamming out of Eleanor’s small room is to track down his false older brother. 

Is this something he did in the past?  It must be.  Why else would such an unpleasant urge besiege him now?

This impulse only serves to further irritate him, and he mumbles violently under his breath as he makes the short journey to his own chambers.

It is good luck that he doesn’t happen upon any of his subjects in the mood he’s currently in.  He’s feeling particularly murderous, and he cannot afford to lose any people at this stage.  He is just establishing his power base, and needless slaughtering would not benefit his cause.  

Although things are coming together, he must wait to retrieve the Tessaract.  The greatest power source the universe has ever seen is essentially useless to him if he cannot manage to construct the portal.

He slams the door to his chamber shut, scowling as the cheap building materials of Midgard creak with strain.

This is the second time in as many visits to Midgard that Loki has felt the pull to seek out Thor.  Although the memories are a jumbled, disjointed haze, Loki recalls his oaf of a false sibling being useless in terms of counsel, but always amenable to provide a good distraction from Loki’s woes, be the entertainment intentional or not.

Above all Loki seeks recognition and exultation.  What he will achieve through sheer power and superiority Eleanor could attain with ease will her voice, yet she rejects the notion entirely.

After Loki’s strange night discovering Eleanor Tate he also felt the urge to speak with the man who he was raised to call brother.

For the thousandth time since finding her, Loki questions the wisdom of seeking her out again, of keeping her near.  Although her capture certainly went according to plan, he remains slightly unsure what to _do_ with her now that she’s here.

Nothing that comes out of her mouth is expected nor is she the quivering mass of fear and devotion and submission he was anticipating.  Loki sees that he scares her, but despite her silence it feels as though she defies him.  Moments that should be glorious conquests of her crushed spirit do not feel like such.

How could acclaim and respect repulse her so? 

Not that Thor would be much help in this matter anyway.  He remains woefully ignorant to the subtleties to the gentler sex.  Who can blame him, the way basically every female, be they mortal or no, throws themselves at him.

Loki believes this to be truth anyway.  There are blurred over sections of his mind when it comes to his past, only his hatred proves sharp and real.

Yes, through the fog he decides that females often thrust themselves upon her false brother, ignoring Loki entirely.

But Eleanor chose Loki.  It does not feel as though anyone ever chose him in such a matter.  Why would they, when the Golden God was always near at hand?

Why is he even wasting thought on this topic?  What transpired between Eleanor Tate and himself upon their meeting will stay firmly in the past, never to reoccur.

He doesn’t need her or want her for anything other than the wholly remarkable voice of hers.

It will bring him sleep, serve to distract him from the fog and the horrors plaguing lucking in the shadows of his mind.

She cringes at the thought of recognition, of her talents being universally heard and lauded.  This above all else he does not understand.  How can a creature of such talent crave anonymity?

He would have the whole realm bow at his feet while she would keep to dark basements, hiding herself away from her full potential.

No matter.  It’s not like she will be given the choice when time comes. 

Still, nearly every word she utters is unexpected and baffling.  He struggles to decode her facial expressions, save for what he sees in her eyes and the movement of her head. 

Sighing heavily, Loki allows his Midgardian rags to disappear from his frame as he makes his way towards his washroom.  He collected the girl under the assumption that her voice would help him relax, help him sleep, but so far the opposite has proved true.

Sleep has long eluded him, but he cannot afford to go without, not now that everything is falling into place.  When he closes his eyes he sees things he’d rather forget.  Eleanor Tate is supposed to serve as a great distraction, giving him a few moments peace.

He bathes, taking his time and attempting to focus his priorities.  The chill in the water goes unnoticed, but eventually he hauls his weary bones out of the tub and to his large bed.

As has become the norm, sleep proves impossible, and after several hours he gives up, summoning Eleanor Tate to his chambers. 

She stumbles in a few moments later, looking rumpled and sleepy.  She wears the same ridiculous clothes and he must remember to instruct her to wear the garments stocked in her rooms.

She stands at the foot of his bed, regarding him with wary red eyes.  She looks swollen, as if she’s been crying.  The thought has his lips twisting into a smile, pleased that he is affecting her in this way.  Already he’s determined that she loathes this particular smile.  He vows to do it more often.

She just stands there, hands in her pockets, staring down at him as if she truly questions his sanity.  This time he’s determined to wait her out.  She will speak first.

He remains languishing in bed, sheet around his waist, chest bare.  The critical way her eyes run over his body makes him uncomfortable, but she would never know it as he keeps on smiling.

“Are you naked?” she finally asks, scowling at him.

“Yes.  Does this displease you?”

She shrugs. 

“As I said before you are not here to provide carnal pleasure.  Now sing.”

She raises an elegant eyebrow, crosses her arms over her chest, and pierces him with that unsettling blue stare of her.  The color is so like that of his subjects, but clearer and all her own.

“Sing!” he demands, making her jump.

She looks around, searching out something.  He growls in frustration. 

“What part of this is unclear, you stupid quim?” he says, spitting his words at her.  “I’ve heard you do it before.  What is the cause of this irritating hesitation?  Look at me, damn you!”

She does as she’s told, stopping her search.

“What do you seek?”

“You just want me to sing?” she asks.  “Just like that?  There isn’t an instrument or something?”

He blinks, once again not anticipating her words.  He was apparently wrong to expect some form of resistance from her and there is nothing more loathsome then that head of hers remaining closed, preventing him from understanding her.

“I wasn’t unaware you required instruments to sing.  What do you play?” he asks, calming slightly.

“You name it, I play it,” she replies.

“What are you saying?” he mutters to himself, irritated by her strange speech patterns.  “That you play all instruments.”

“Pretty much.”

“Further proof that you are not what you think you are,” he says.

She rolls her eyes.

“Sing,” he repeats.

“What would you like me to sing, my lord?” she asks.

He smirks, pleased that she seems to be learning so quickly.

“Good girl,” he says.  “And I leave the selection to your discretion.  Sing something of my new realm, a song of devotion and praise to your king.”

The corner of Ellie’s lips twitches up for a split second, but otherwise her face remains unchanged.

“I don’t think I know any songs like that.”

He lets out a snort of disgust.  “Right.  You are hopelessly _American_.  Your people practically invented the preposterous notion that men should be free.  I imagine your songs reflect this great lie of humanity?”

“Sure.”  She shrugs.

“Sing, my little songbird.”

She takes a big breath, glances around as if an instrument magically appeared during their conversations (something he did consider briefly before enjoying her apparent discomfort), and finally opens her mouth.

It’s beautiful as always, bright and clear and so big for someone so small. 

The voice relaxes him.  The lyrics perplex him.

She sings of Mary and her little lamb, something about snow, and the lamb following Mary about.

“I do not understand the point of the song,” he says when she’s done.  Her lip twitches again.

“Well, it’s a metaphor,” she replies.

“A metaphor?”

“Yeah, Mary is the ruler.  Like you, I guess.  And then the lamb is a metaphor for the people who follow her rule,” she says as if it should be the most obvious thing in all the realms.

Loki studies her, long and hard.  She doesn’t so much as flinch at his scrutiny, just lowers her chin and gives him that look that was so effective in getting him back to her dwelling upon their first meeting.

“Are you a trickster, Eleanor Tate?”

She smiles. 

“Goodnight, God of Mischief.  Pleasant dreams.”

He lets her depart and falls asleep, resolving to pay no attention to her words in the future in favor of focusing simply on the sounds.

* * *

 

The boredom is the worst part.

That, and the lack of cigarettes.

He is gone during the day, each and every painfully long day, and although Ellie prefers his absence to his presence, she has never been one to weather the lack of entertainment gracefully.

Things inside her head get dangerous and scary when she doesn’t keep herself occupied.  She thinks about her fake father and the equally fake family she left behind.  She wonders how her fake sister has managed to grow up and if her fake mother even noticed that she left in the first place.

Upon waking the first day she discovers fruit, toast, and coffee for breakfast, but no note or other indication as to what she’s expected to do with herself all day long.  Anticipating the coming lack of purpose, Ellie eats as slowly as possible, skinning each grape with her teeth before popping them in her mouth.

But all too soon not even a crumb remains.  She thinks about what do to with the tray and it’s dishes, and even gathers the bravery to venture out of her little room.

Clutching her tray to her chest she sticks her head out of her door after discovering it shockingly unlocked.  She glances around nervously for a full five minutes, studying the short corridor, before finally taking a first step from the little room that has already become her safe haven in this extremely bizarre situation.

The concrete floor sends a shiver through her body, starting with her bare feet.  Although her room is furnished in a way that almost passes for homey, the illusion is destroyed out in the hall.  It is decaying and brick, much like the large room she entered through last night.

Placing one frozen foot in front of the other, she gets to the double doors at the end of the hallway.  The exact same set of doors resides at the other end of the hallway as well, but these are closer so she’ll try them first.

Although she expected to find them locked, Ellie can’t help the wave of supreme disappointment that flows through her when the handles refuse to budge.  She rests her forehead against the cold metal of the door, trying not to cry.

After the night she had it seems impossible that any more liquid could possibly run down her cheeks.  Surely she must be all dried up by now.

Ellie takes four deep, calming breaths, her grip on the tray giving her something to focus on, before turning her head and pressing her ear to the door.  It is thick and heavy, but through the barrier Ellie can hear the sounds of construction and people at work.

The lab in progress is this way then.  She tucks the information away in her head for future use. 

Next she turns to try the other set of double doors at the opposite end of the hallway, identical to the locked pair that blocks her exit.  She makes note of another door, similar to hers, and remembers being summoned there in the middle of the night, roused from sleep just after she finally managed to doze off.

His freaky disembodied voice woke her up and yelled at her until she stumbled into the proper room.  It was totally weird.

She wonders fleetingly if he’s in there, just beyond the door.  She doesn’t feel the inclination to check.

It is with exactly zero hope that Ellie pulls on the handle of the other door.  She nearly falls over in shock when the door opens easily, swinging out towards her.  The tray almost falls to the ground, but she manages to steady it and keep the door propped open.

It takes her another few minutes to realize that she’s found the kitchen.  The layout of this underground facility is very bizarre, and it seems strange to Ellie to see something as normal as a kitchen here in wacko land.

The small, functional kitchen also has the look of industry about it, as if it belongs in a restaurant rather than the residential section of this subterranean bunker.  Ellie glances in, wary all over again, but finds no one.

For one terrifying moment she feels so alone, as if she’ll be left down here to die.  No one would ever even notice. 

For lack of anything better to do, Ellie walks to the sink and methodically does her dishes.  After drying them, she takes some time to poke around and find the proper home for each dish, the tray included.

She explores, noting how thoroughly equipped the kitchen is.  She takes stock of the contents of the fridge even if she cares little about food.  By financial necessity she’s developed into someone who doesn’t eat much.

Plus, sometimes she truly believes she lost her appetite the moment her fake daddy died.

A wrack of wine makes her smile.  She’ll be back for that.

When she’s gotten tired of cataloguing the contents of the kitchen, she retires back to her room and starts the process of exploration all over again.  She finds the drawers in her living space to be much more interesting and irritating than the kitchen.

It seems that her captor has thought of everything, right down to the reading glasses that he must have magicked out of her apartment somehow.  She goes through each piece of clothing in her closet, each elegant dress disgusting her a little more than the last.

_He can’t possibly expect me to wear this shit, can he?  Oh who am I kidding?  Of course he can._

The dresser situation is no better.  Everything is painfully formal.  Even the one pair of dark denim she manages to find is fancy and uncomfortable looking.  There are no sneakers, only heels, the cursed tortured devices she swore long ago that she’d only wear at work.

_Looks like I’ll be spending a lot of time barefoot.  And why the hell is everything green?_

Her eyes go wide when she moves to the vanity and takes in the startling array of cosmetic products.  The jewelry is even worse.

She pats her pockets, searching out her cigarettes.  It’s been a long fucking night and she can’t remember ever craving a cancer stick more, but the pockets are empty, the cigarettes gone.

Rage, pure and unadulterated, seems to ignite her bones.  For the first time she gets truly and deeply furious with her current plight, with her lack of freedom and the alleged god who is responsible for this insane situation.

The shock wears off, leaving her fucking pissed.

In her anger she almost punches out her mirror, but after a few more deep breaths she calms down.  Instead she stares at her bruised cheek, vowing to survive this.

She’s survived worse.

It felt worse, at least, although in reality it was nowhere near as life threatening.

Loki seems to be the ultimate control freak, an unhinged one at that, and she won’t give him a reason to hit her again.  Maybe her mantra should be give him everything _but_ what matters.

She continues her exploration, trying to ignore the desire for nicotine.

Last night she was told to dispose of her old attire, the clothes she hasn’t managed to change out of yet.  Taking in the clothes he’s arranged, she sees that her rags are definitely not up to his standards or to his tastes.

Fuck, this is weird.

No wonder he liked her so much at work.  That gold dress is right up his goddamn alley.

Sighing reluctantly, she peels off her comforting flannel along with her favorite white tank top.  She slips out of her jeans last, already missing the feel of the familiar fabric.

Fearing that Loki will have her things burned, she hides her clothes between the box spring and the mattress.  Her old Converse she sticks in the dark depths of the closet.  She vows to never let him see her in any of these casual, normal people clothes. 

Knowing him as she does already, it would not surprise her if he saw her distaste for the clothes here as some extreme slight to his pride.  The last thing she needs is another slap.

She gently prods at the large bump on the back of her head and scowls.

Ellie then takes the hottest possible bath, wanting nothing more than to wash this away.  To wash it all away.

* * *

 

“What have you done to yourself, you insolent little whelp?  Is this some strange brand of defiance?”  He hisses at her the moment she takes up her uncomfortable position at the end of his bed later that night.

The rest of her day was filled with excessive napping and cuticle care.  She is nowhere near alert enough to decode his ever-baffling words.

She glances down at the simple dress selected from her bursting closet.  It is cotton, a long sleeve number in such a dark green it almost appears black.  The neckline is modest, but somehow exposes her collarbones in a way that is a little too sexy, given her current situation.  The hem stops just above her knee, flaring out slightly, while the black scoops low. A golden belt competes the look, and in snitched to the smallest part of her narrow waist.

And most surprisingly, it actually fits her squirrely little body; makes her squirrely little body look like a lady body.

Ellie feels pretty in the dress, even if she struggled with the zipper for almost fifteen minutes.

Unable to stand even the sight of heels, her feet and legs are bare.

Everything else is normal.  Same wild hair, same delicate facial features, and the same scrawny limbs and too small waist.

“Well?” he shouts again when she fails to provide an explanation.  “Why have you disfigured yourself so?”

She simply raises an eyebrow at him, needing more information.  She looks fine.  Better than fine. She was so bored she spent most of the day in front of the mirror, playing with make up and curling her hair.

“The nails,” he says, sounding more weary than angry now.

Ellie spreads her fingers and studies her nails before comprehension dawns.  She’s created a rainbow in ten shades, a different color for each nail. 

“I was bored,” she murmurs, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes.  Her chin points down towards her chest and he gapes at her.

“Bored?” he repeats, skeptical. 

“Yes.”

“You disfigured yourself out of boredom?”

She cracks a smile at his dry tone, and scratches some paint of her bright red thumb before holding it out of his inspection.

“It is not permanent,” he mutters.  “What an odd, simplistic tradition.  All these colors were in your room?”

She nods.

“Upon returning to your own chamber be sure to remove this pigment.  Throw away the colors, although you may keep the green and black.  Also the gold will suffice.”

_And we’re back to the fucking green._

“Sing,” Loki says.

And she does.

* * *

 

Each night she sings for him, silly songs, ditties that hold no meaning for her. Occasionally she throws in a nice protest song, a blatant fuck you that he never picks up on.

She holds true to her decision to give him nothing that matters.  Despite her song selection, Loki seems happy.

He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to lyrics, probably because of her first little _Mary Had a Little Lamb_ joke.

Each night he expresses displeasure at her appearance. 

Her daily boredom persists, driving her to mess around with her face or hair.  The makeovers get progressively more absurd as she weathers more days of boredom and solitude.

He calls her plum lips garish one night and actually gets out of bed, totally naked mind you, to remove the elaborate braids she added to her hair the next.   Ellie stares determinedly at his face, refusing to ogle his annoyingly beautiful body as his oh so talented fingers pull braid after braid from her long blond hair.

There is nothing he can do but scowl when she shows up the next night with stick straight hair.

Like, really fucking straight.

Loki proves impossible to please, but Ellie finds she likes his irritation better, as long as he’s not angry enough to start with the smacking or to whip out that glowing stick of doom.  Annoying him with her makeovers becomes her own little form of rebellion until she runs out of inspiration.  Knowing that repeating one of her past styles would earn her nothing but a slap, she begrudgingly stops messing with the megalomaniac demigod.

The boredom returns.

* * *

 

It takes her two whole days to get up the nerve, but she finally asks him. 

She’s summoned to his bedroom, just as she is every night, to see him propped up against the headboard, only a sheet covering his waist.

For the occasion she’s even donned one of the nicer dresses, a pale green satin number with thin straps and a low cut bodice.  Although the top fits nicely, the dress was clearly designed for someone of average height.  It is inches too long, and Ellie is forced to hold the skirt up to keep from tripping.

Her hair is pulled up into a loose bun at the base of her neck, showing off her shoulders and throat.  She keeps her make up classic, like she wears it for work, but without the red lip.  Lord knows what he’d have to say about that.

Loki sits up a little straighter against the headboard when she enters.

“How long have I been here?” she demands, speaking quickly before he has a chance to say anything.  “How many days?”

At first Loki’s eyes go wide, shocked to hear her speak without his prompting, but then he scowls.

“I advise you to watch your tone, Eleanor,” he says, voice low and dark.  “What right do you have to demand anything from me?”

Recognizing her mistake, she drops her gaze to her feet, lowing her head in submission.  She can give him her pride, submit to him with her words and actions, as long as she doesn’t give him anything that matters.

Sometimes she can even call him “my lord” with a straight face.

“I apologize, sir,” she murmurs.  There is no sarcasm in her voice, a fact that is fortunate, although surprising.  This king shit is just so totally ridiculous, but he seems to eat it up, if his satisfied little smirk is any indication.

“Good.”

She takes a deep breath, unwilling to give up just yet.  Keeping her face tilted down, she searches out those haunted azure eyes.  The shade seems to vary with his mood.

“Loki?” she whispers.  It’s the first time since that first night she’s used his name.  She thinks she sees him shiver slightly, but doesn’t know what to make of it.  “Please.  I’ve lost track of everything down here.  I haven’t seen the sun.  Please, just tell me.  How many days?”

He stares at her, and she fiddles with the seam of her dress.  The fabric is so silky and she feels a little bit beautiful.

“Six.”

A shudder runs through her.

“Six,” she echoes.  “Only six.”

“Does your time here seem longer?” he asks.

She doesn’t even bother nodding.

“It feels long to me as well,” he says, watching her intently.  “You will see the sun at my side again, Eleanor, but it will take more time than either of us would like, I’m afraid.”

This time she manages a small nod.

“Sing,” Loki commands.

And she does.

* * *

 On day eight it gets so late Ellie assumes he doesn’t require her voice and falls asleep.  She sleeps for hours, her dreams pleasant and calm for once.  The details escape her, but she feels loved.

How she misses feeling loved.

There are hands on her shoulders and at first she leans into the touch, but the grip tightens and her eyes fly open.  She can only make out the faint outline of a man looming over her, wild eyes glinting at her in the dark.

With a strangled scream she attempts to roll away.  Fear chokes her and her head remains fuzzy from sleep.  Somehow she manages to get caught in her own sheets and progresses to fall off the bed in a tangle, landing on the floor with a grunt and a thump.

The light is flicked on as Loki laughs at her predicament.  He leans over the bed, watching her with an amused smirk.

“You are ever graceful, my songbird,” he says, continuing to chuckle.  “Tell me.  Do you fear the dark?”

With another groan she lets her head fall back to the carpet.  For a long moment she just lies there with her eyes closed, recovering from having the wind knocked out of her and trying to still her racing heart.

“Fuck,” she mutters, digging her palms into her eyes. 

“ _Eleanor_.” He chastises her language, sounding more like an exasperated Sunday school teacher than a control freak demigod bent on world domination.

“Sorry,” Ellie replies, sitting up and clutching her sheet to her chest.  “What’s up?”

He frowns, still disapproving of her speech patterns, but offers her a hand up.  She regards him warily, accustom to his trickery at this point, but takes his hand despite her better instincts.  He lets his grip slip causing her to fall back slightly, just as she thought he’d do.  Loki grins when she lets out another squeak, but then hauls her upright into his arms.

“I surprised you,” he observes.  “Surely you did not think a night would go by without my need for your services?”

She puts space between their bodies and fights a blush.  He makes everything sound so sexual.  It is unclear whether it is intentional or not, a scheme to fluster her or just the way he talks.

At least tonight he’s dressed in a tunic looking thing and black leather pants.

“Time to sing?” she asks, tossing the sheet on the bed. 

When he doesn’t respond she glances up to see him staring at her with wide, dark eyes.  It takes her a moment to remember that she wears only the ridiculous silk camisole and shorts set provided as nightwear in her wardrobe.  She prefers a t-shirt and panties to sleep in, but that apparently is far too casual.

She knows she looks good, even if the peach silk is far too prissy for her tastes.  The garment clings to her laughably limited curves, making her appear more womanly.

Loki keeps staring and she bites her lip to keep from grinning.  Despite all his ranting about disgusting mortal flesh, he wants her.  She can see it, and although it’s a little terrifying because the thought of touching her captor again is repugnant (or should be) she revels in the knowledge that for once she is doing the flustering.

“Loki?” she repeats, touching his elbow.

He jerks away from her, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Yes.  Sing.  Yes, it is time,” he says, grabbing her hand and dragging her out to the hall and towards his room.  “But I have another surprise for you.”

She sighs and rubs her bruised tailbone, the result of his most recent surprise. 

Loki pauses at the door, pulling her in front of him and covering her eyes with one hand.  She tenses, far too aware of his close proximity.

“Oh, you are afraid of the dark,” Loki whispers in her ear as he slowly walks her forward.  “I can feel it in you, my sweet songbird.  Do you not trust your king?  In time you will learn to blindly follow.”

_Not fucking likely._

She stumbles over nothing, and his free hand tightens on her hip.  Despite all his power, can he really be so blind?  Can he really think that the tension in her body is from fear?

Ellie wishes that her traitor body was simply scared of him, scared of the dark, but she lets him keep his half-truths.  Instead she focuses on _not_ pressing her body more firmly into his, _not_ rubbing against him, and _not_ making a fool of herself to this seemingly oblivious alleged god who really has some strange sexual hang ups.

Also the hate.  She really hates being trapped here with him.  And him too.  She really hates him.

Although blind, she attempts to get her bearings.  His room is three times the size of hers, but usually she just stands at the foot of his massive bed.  They slowly move father into the room than she has been before.  It makes her nervous.

Finally he removes his hand from her eyes.  The hand on her hip stays, and she feels as if his tall frame encompasses her.

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs.

Suddenly she doesn’t want too.  She’s grown to like the dark.

But she only hesitates for a moment, knowing fully well that disobedience will make him angry and he has been weirdly not evil recently.  She’d hate to change that now over something so stupid.

When she does manage to get her eyes open she has to blink rapidly to make sure her vision isn’t deceiving her.  Before her is the single most beautiful piano she’s ever seen. It’s huge, dominating the corner of his room.  The black surface is polished to a shine.

She can’t seem to move so she just stands there gaping for a long moment.

“Eleanor?” he asks, breath tickles her neck.  Something in his voice is so painfully unsure, so insecure, that her heart lurches in her chest.

Slowly she turns, trying to find the words, but she is too happy.  It’s shocking but Ellie finds her throat chocked with emotion.  She has to crane her neck to look him in the eye, but she gives him a radiant smile, hoping to dispel some of the doubt she sees in his eyes.

Loki frowns, using his thumb to wipe at her cheek.  It isn’t until her tastes her tears that she realizes she is crying at all.

“ _Eleanor_ ,” he snaps, losing patience with her. Now she hears something close to panic in his strangely accented voice.

Still beyond words, she lets out some sort of strange squeak and throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level to hug him properly. 

She knows it’s wrong.  She knows she is giving him something that matters, giving him thanks he does not deserve, but the piano is too beautiful and she’s missed her music so much.

Loki stumbles slightly, obviously shocked to be accosted in this manner, but eventually he straightens, pulling Ellie flush with his body.  An arm snakes around her lower back and he holds her close.

His embrace is so tight it should hurt, but Ellie revels in the contact.  She’s been so lonely here.  She wonders how a normal person with actually friends would cope with such isolation.

Loki sighs, his face against her neck, and pulls her impossibly closer.  Her toes leave the ground and she just dangles there in his arms for a long moment.

She feels the shift, the uncomfortable lurch in her heart, and remembers her mantra.

_Give him nothing that matters.  Give him nothing important._

Loki seems to sense the change in her.  He feels the tension back in her body and slowly sets her on her feet.  He clears his throat and refuses to look at her as he takes two large steps away.

“It is a piano,” he mutters, awkward for the first time.  It makes Ellie smile.

“Yes.”

“And it pleases you?”

“Yes.”

“Instruments please you?”

“Endlessly.”

He gestures towards the stunning piece of craftsmanship, as if he is presenting it to her, and she moves towards it, lovingly running her hands over it’s sides before brushing the keys.  She plays a quick scale, melting as the quality of the tone reverberates in the room.

She closes her eyes, the simple note progression making her feel like herself for the first time in the last thirteen days.

Sliding onto the bench, she stretches her rusty fingers and begins to play.  Without even thinking she plays Beethoven’s _Fur Elise._  It’s easy as breathing, a piece she’s known as long as she’s known how to walk.  She takes her time and feels each note feed her soul.  Her eyes remain closed as she seamlessly continues with Beethoven, shifting into _Moonlight Sonata._ It’s haunting and she continues to cry, but the notes are such a part of her, she relishes this, eating it up like comfort food.

Still her eyes stay closed as she completely shifts gears, needing to raise her own spirits.  All her piano instructors were always amazed with her flawless version of Gershwin’s _Rhapsody in Blue_ from memory.

Her memory is an impressive facet of her talent.  She never forgets a song after she learns it and she learns damn fast.

She picks up the tempo, giggling to herself in delight.

The music transports her, fills her every nook and cranny.  She forgets about her current status as captive, her traitor body’s desire for her insane captor, the fact that no one loves her.

She just plays.

And he lets her.

Loki silently loiters behind her, letting her complete fifteen minutes of Gershwin in peace before speaking.

“The first two were lovely.”  His soft voice penetrates her conscious and she jumps slightly as reality returns.  She sighs, letting her fingers rest on familiar keys.  “Did you create these compositions?”

_As if I’d ever give you anything as important as something I wrote._

Ellie laughs lightly, somewhat charmed by his ignorance.

“I wish,” she murmurs.  “The first two were Beethoven.”

“A _different_ Midgardian?” he asks, disbelieving.

“An extremely gifted Midgardian,” she corrects.  “I’m not the only one on this rock with a little talent, Loki.”

He scoffs, dismissing her words.  “I will track this being down and find the secret.  There is a trick here, of this I am sure.”

She giggles and then wonders if he’d use the same tactic on Beethoven that he used on her that first night.

“Good luck with that,” she murmurs.

“And the last piece?  Very hard to follow, that.  I feared it would never end,” he says.

She turns to look at him, surprised to see just how close he’s standing to her.

“Gershwin,” she replies.

He looks at her for a long moment.

“Sing,” he says.

“And play?”

“Sing and play.”

She gives him a nice little ditty that holds no meaning to her what so ever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in Chapter 3:
> 
> Mary had a Little Lamb by Stevie Ray Vaughan
> 
> The Parting Glass by the Wailin' Jennys
> 
> Because of You by Kelly Clarkson
> 
> Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday
> 
> Nothing but the Water by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals 
> 
> Spirit Horse by Sea Wolf
> 
> Kiss with a Fist by Florence + The Machine
> 
> Fur Elise by Beethoven
> 
> Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven
> 
> Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin
> 
> 1000 by Venissa Carlton


	4. The Sun Also Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has no understanding of skin in the sun.

If she wakes up now, giving in to the insistent buzzing of her alarm, she’ll have time to do the whole make up routine.  She’ll have time to shower and straighten her fucking curly hair. 

Instead she sleeps on.  What’s the point of looking pretty?  Danny will love her forever, he says, even when she’s old and fat and wrinkly, so what’s the point in looking pretty?

Someone is calling her name.  It must be Mom.  When did her mothers voice get all low and silky?

“ _Eleanor.”_

But no one besides her mother calls by that stupid ass name.

“Five more minutes,” Ellie mutters into her pillow, rolling away from the voice.

“Eleanor!”

Damn, the woman is pissed and persistent.

And she sounds like a dude.

Weird.

“Calm down, Mom.”

“ _Mom?_ ”

The fog of sleep is clearing, leaving Ellie disoriented.  Her comforter is ripped away from her body and then she remembers everything.

The voice doesn’t belong to her mother.  She has no mother and she isn’t tucked safely away in her childhood home. 

The voice belongs to her megalomaniac, music loving, often confused, captor.

_Shit, I just called him Mom._

Ellie rolls over to lie flat on her back, shivering slightly from cold and embarrassment.  A sneering Loki looms over her.

“Mom?” He spits out the word like it tastes bad.

Ellie shrugs.

“You have no family,” he continues.

Ellie shrugs once more, not wanting to know how he knows that.

“Explain!” he demands.

“I thought I had a mom once upon a time,” she says.  “I guess I was dreaming.  What time is it?”

It seems like only ten minutes ago she left Loki’s bedroom after giving him his nightly song.  Maybe he wants another.

“Arise,” he says, snapping his fingers.

He must want another.

She sits up, stretching her arms way up above her head.  He watches with a little too much intensity, prompting Ellie to move quicker.  When she pulls on a robe and moves towards his room Loki snags her elbow, redirecting her towards the locked double doors instead.

Panic and delight bubble in her chest.  Any change in the boring routine of her confinement is a blessing at this point but the possibilities of what he had planned for her beyond those doors terrify her.

Will he kill her?  Rape her? Steal away everything that makes her human?

Without really thinking about it Ellie stops walking, digging her heels in as he tries to drag her forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” he snaps.  The grip on her arm becomes painful and Ellie winces.

“Are you going to poke me with the glowing stick of doom?” Her question is a strangled whisper.

“Only if you continue to defy me,” he replies.  “And cover yourself, girl.”

She tires her robe and willing moves forward, but he feels the need to wrap an arm around her shoulders anyway.  Ellie has to bite her cheek to stifle her protest when he covers her eyes with his hand.

“You are not wearing shoes,” he observes as they walk.

“I just woke up.”

“You never wear shoes.”

Ellie shrugs as Loki directs her through what she assumes is his workspace.  All is quiet now and Ellie wonders why her eyes need to be covered at all.  As if he can hear her thoughts – he can’t, she assures herself – Loki removes his hand.

Blinking as her eyes adjust to the dimly lit corridor, Ellie looks around.  It takes her a few beats to realize that they are standing in the decaying hall she walked through on her first night as a hostage.

She’s lost count how many nights have passed since.

The rocky ground is riddled with crumbling concrete, pea gravel, and rusted out metal.  Ellie glances down at her bare feet and then up at Loki, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Why do you not wear shoes?” he asks, sounding weary.

“The heels hurt my feet.”

He sighs heavily.  “You are such a weakling.”

“I can run back and—“ She stops talking when he sweeps her into his arms.

“I know not why I bother with you,” he mutters.

“’Cuz I sing pretty,” she murmurs.  She’s a little shocked to see what appears to be a genuine smile on his face.

“That you do.”

Loki moves quickly and they transvers the long corridor in a matter of minutes.  He sets her down in front of a ladder before starting to climb.  She gapes up at him.

“Follow,” Loki says without looking down.  “This you can manage without the appropriate footwear, I believe.”

She follows.

By the time Loki is pushing up through a hatch in the ceiling, Ellie’s arms ache and her breathing is harsh.  He offers her a hand, pulling her through the opening. 

The light is grey and below her is a sea of green.  Ellie gasps when she realizes that they are standing on a roof.  Outside.  At dawn.

She sucks in great breaths, trying to get as much fresh air as possible in her lungs, greedy for the outdoors now.  Her knees give out and Loki lets out a quiet noise that might be something close to distress as she falls.  When he attempts to pull her back up, Ellie bats his hands away and for once he lets her be. 

She breathes in deep and look out at the green treetops just below them, so close she could lean off the edge of the roof and touch them.

“Are you quiet alright, Eleanor?” he asks.

She nods.

“I must insist that you turn around.”

Without hesitation, she does as he commands, shuffling around to sit in the correct direction.

“There,” he murmurs.  “Do you see?”

She squints at the dark sky, expecting to see explosions in the distance or something equally horrible.  Panic rising in her chest, Ellie frantically searches for some sign that he’s managed to destroyed the world.

But then she understands as the light shifts and the sky gets brighter.

Scrambling to her feet, Ellie cranes her neck to see the sun as it rises over the horizon.

“You requested sunshine,” he mutters.  “Did you not?”

She nods mutely, staring intently at the lightening sky.  Even though she can feel his eyes on her, Ellie does an excellent job ignoring him.

The morning is already sticky and hot, but she revels in the feels of heat on her skin.  After long days in a drafty underground bunker she lets it warm her bones.

“You cry,” Loki say, disturbing long moments of silence.

Frowning, Ellie touches her face, somewhat surprised to feel the wetness there.

“Tears of joy?” He wipes the liquid from her face and brings his fingertips to his lips.  “Much like the piano?”

Ellie nods and goes back to watching the sun slowly make an appearance.

“Why do you not show me your gratitude?” 

The new anger in his voice is alarming and Ellie looks at him now, jumping slightly when she realizes that he’s so close and so pissed.  Holding her ground, she raises an eyebrow, silently asking him to clarify.

“When I gifted you the piano you were immensely grateful,” he reminds her, scowling as he takes up his typical pacing.  “So appreciative you that you lost all sense of propriety and smothered me with your disgusting mortal flesh.”

She rolls her eyes because she’s caught him checking out said “disgusting” flesh pretty regularly.

“But now you simply stand here,” Loki continues. “Explain this at once.”

“This isn’t like the piano,” she murmurs, turning away to watch the sun rise.  “I’m not grateful.”

“Pardon?”  He makes the polite inquiry sound so hateful.

“That was a beautiful gift,” she says.

“And this?”

The anger comes upon her suddenly and she bites her cheek to keep from screaming at him.  He is the fucking reason she hadn’t seen the fucking sun in what feels like fucking years and now he wants her to thank him for allowing her to do something that is her right.

“Eleanor!” he yells, demanding an answer.

“Before you brought me here I did not have a beautiful piano,” she says, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. 

He stares at her blankly for a few beats before his lovely features get twisted with rage into something monstrous.

“After all I have done for you, this lack of gratitude is what you give in return?  You dare complain?  You dare feel dissatisfaction?”

Ellie flinches, closing her eyes as she braces for the worst.  He hasn’t hit her since that first night, but she hasn’t pissed him off like this since then either.

“Look at me,” he demands.

She opens her eyes and he fills up her vision. He is standing so close, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

“Thank me,” he says quietly.

She draws blood biting her cheek.  The effort to hold back a slew of angry curses is painful. 

_Give him anything but what matters._

Reminding herself to survive this, she opens her mouth to fucking thank him for time out of her prison, but the words die on her tongue.  Her voice is rebelling.  She can’t thank him for this when it is just a glaring reminder of the freedom her stole from her.

For whatever reason, Ellie can’t bring herself to say the words, so she just gazes up at him, silently pleasing with him to just let it go.

“Thank me!” he screams, making her jump.

“I’m thankful to be outside,” she whispers.  “But the sun isn’t yours to give, Loki.”

When he moves Ellie instinctively jerks away, raising her hands and turning her head in anticipation of the coming blow.  Instead he traps her face between his large, cool palms. 

“Why do you fear me?” he asks, apparently confused.

“I’m a weakling, remember?” Her heart hammers around in her chest as she struggles to keep up with his rapid mood swings.  “When you hit me it hurts.”

“I would not hit you,” he murmurs.  That stricken, panicked, childlike look is back and there is green in his eyes.  There is no alcohol to make her doubt it this time.  There is green in his eyes and Ellie does not understand, but nor does she pull away, despite all her screaming instincts.  “I would not hurt you,” he continues, blinking as if puzzled by his own words.

“You have hurt me,” she insists.  “Here.”

She places a hand over one of his that still covers her cheek. 

“Here.” 

She touches the back of her head. 

“And my hand.” 

She flexes her fingers. 

“And here.” 

She touches her throat, thinking of their first bizarre encounter last February.

Frowning in a way that makes him appear years younger, Loki’s fingers trace each spot she identified with a reverence that does strange things to her chest.  She is crying.  She never stopped.

The bruises he searches for are long healed.  She’s always healed quick.

His tentative touch makes her want to comfort him, a notion as insane as her desire to scream curses at him.  She stands passively as he examines her.  The green leaves his eyes and Ellie can pinpoint the exact moment that he remembers to be angry at her.

Bad Loki is back.

“You resent your living arrangements so very much?” he snarls, abruptly letting go of her.  Ellie stumbles and tries not to glare.  “You devote yourself to the sun instead?  Very well.  Enjoy the heat.”

And then he is disappearing down through the hatch, slamming it behind him.  She can feel the vibration from the heavy metal door beneath her feet.

She blinks at the closed hatch, glances around the empty roof, and then stares at the hatch a few more moments before she really understands.  Now she wants the sun to stay low in the sky.

“Fuck you, Loki,  “ she mutters.  “Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck you.”

* * *

 

 “She hollered for awhile and banged on the door, sir,” says the guard posted at the base of the ladder that leaves to the roof where Ellie spent her day. 

“Did she take food and water?” Loki asks.

“Wouldn’t know, sit,” is the frustrating reply.  “No one’s been up since noon.  She’s been quiet as a mouse.”

Loki frowns and makes the assent.  When he pushed through the opening and steps out onto the roof he finds his sunbird curled into a tight ball at the very edge.  The sight of her turned away from him, lying on her side in her silky garments on the hard, dirty concrete of the roof makes him violently angry, although he could not say at whom his rage is directed.

He thought she would be pleased to see the sun, as she was pleased to receive the piano, but instead his benevolent gestured only served to remind her of her imprisonment.

It would be exceedingly easy to spare her this burden, but he’d rather her discover the peace in turning her life over to him rather than using the tesseract.  In addition he would miss her ability to surprise him and he fears that contact with the tesseract would alter her voice, making it somehow… _less_. 

“Eleanor,” he says, prodding her back with her boot.

Grumbling incomprehensively she shuffles away from him.  Her now filthy robe serves as a pillow, leaving her clothed in night attire he is coming to both loathe and enjoy.

When it becomes apparent that Loki is starting at her legs and smooth, subtle curves, he prods her again.

“Eleanor!”

This time she answers.

"There is an invisible barrier running around the edge of the roof,” she replies without moving.  “The whole roof.  I can hear it humming and it threw me back when I tried to look over the edge.”

“Were you attempting escape, my songbird?” he hisses.  The possibility is far more troubling than is reasonable. 

She fails to answer, as per the usual.

“There is no escape for you, Eleanor.  For the remainder of your laughably short mortal existence you will be mine.  You will do as I say and be grateful for what you are given and in return I will take care of you,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

Eleanor sighs.  Movements stiff and bones creaking, she slowly gets to her feet and turns to face him.  The masses of once flawless skin exposed by her small garments is burned an angry red.

“Good job taking care of me,” she says, glowing as she points to her face.

Ignoring the slight, he reaches out to touch her red cheek.  That heat from her flesh against his fingers is uncomfortable.

“How?” he asks.

“It was one hundred and fucking three fucking degrees!” she yells, arms flailing wildly around her head. 

Loki takes a step back, shocked to hear her address him in such fashion.  Despite her penchant for silence, she did raise her voice on the night he brought her here.  Those pathetic shrieks for help were not direct at him.  Now he seems to have truly incurred the wrath of Eleanor.

Although he reaction is irritating and unacceptable, Loki finds himself impressed by the formidable force that lurks inside such an unassuming creature.

“You left me up here all day in this crazy southern summer heat on a fucking roof!” she continues.  “There is no shade!  There wasn’t a goddamn cloud in the goddamn sky!”

There is something in her gaze that prevents him from putting a stop to her insolence through disciplinary action.  Her typically bright blue eyes appear lifeless and glassy.  His own concern mounts.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs, reaching out for her.

She smacks his hands away, taking a staggering step back. 

“I cooked!” she continues.  “I fried!  This is a fucking sunburn, Loki.  If you wanted me to hate the sun than good fucking job.  My skin hurts.  My head hurts.  Your goons only gave me only one fucking glass of water for the whole fucking day!”

She sways dangerously and doesn’t fight him when he steadies her with hands on her shoulders.  The heat from her skin warms his palms, making him wince.

“Eleanor, calm yourself!”

“People—“ She loses her breath and closes her eyes.  “People die like this.  Heat stroke.”

Her head lolls on her shoulders and Loki wraps his arms around her as she leans heavily against him.  Her voice gets sluggish. 

“You’re so cool and I’m so hot it hurts to move,” she murmurs.  “God, touch me please.”

The delirium seems to take her and Loki lifts her into his arms, marveling at her lightness.

“You will see a doctor immediately,” he says, not understanding his own panic. 

“No,” she says, sounding more like herself now.  “I’m just dizzy and hot.  I want water, dinner, and to lie down in my own bed.”

“If you are quite certain,” he begrudgingly agrees.  In this he’ll have to trust her judgment as he obviously knows nothing of Midgardian physiology if this latest blunder is any indication.   He meant for her to be bored and uncomfortable, not burned.

He would never wish burning upon Eleanor.

“Take me home,” she says.  The word choice is odd.

_Home._

He doesn’t like it.

Rushing back to their living quarters, Loki curses her fragility.  His worry for the little songbird is some what shocking but he feels something else as well that churns unpleasantly in his gut.  The unnamable feeling is both foreign and familiar simultaneously, like something he once felt in a dream or the echo of some long ago memory.

As he allows Eleanor to rest against the chilled skin of his bare chest, Loki thinks endlessly on the feeling.

It takes hours for him to give it a name.

Guilt.

* * *

 

“Let me up,” she says.

Loki holds her to his bare chest and shows no sign of releasing her.  With his cool skin soothing her sun burned cheek, Ellie glances at his face, checking to see if he’s fallen asleep.

His eyes are closed and Ellie wiggles, trying to get out of his grip.

The coolness of his skin is so soothing, but now that she feels better and less delirious her anger returns and being this close to him becomes unbearable.

“Why must you arise?” he asks.

“I feel better.  I want a shower and need to slather myself in lotion.”

“You are not too weak?”

“No.”

He lets her up, standing himself and pulling his tunic back on over his head.

“Eleanor,” he says before she can slip away into the bathroom.   Glancing at him over her shoulder, she waits as he struggles to find the words.  “I will keep your fragility in mind henceforth.”

There is genuine contrition in his voice.  Even if it is no apology, it’s close, closer than she thought possible.

“Have you figured out why you did all this?” she asks.

“To punish you,” he replies.

“No,” Ellie says, shaking her head.  “You brought me to the roof to see the sunrise.  That was a nice thing.  You did something nice for me.  Have you figured out why you tried to do something nice for me?”

Loki just glares at her, but he feels bad and Ellie takes advantage of the moment.

“You wanted to make me happy,” she explains.  “Like with the piano.  And you wanted a hug.”

Now he is sputtering.  Ellie finds his reaction amusing.

“Do you want me to sing?” she asks.

“No,” he says, clearing his throat and backing towards the door.  “Rest.”

And she does. 


	5. Servents Work

“What are you doing in there?”

Ellie lets out a shocked squeak, her body jerking involuntary.  She whacks her head against a shelf in the refrigerator, where she had been digging around for a clove of garlic before he snuck up on her.  The bump to the shelf sends a basket fruit of tumbling out onto the kitchen floor.  As she attempts to straighten and turn to him, her foot catches on a stray apple, causing her to land on her ass in a pile of green silk and awkward limbs.

She closes her eyes and counts to ten, trying to calm her racing heart.  He is such a sneaky motherfucker, and she needs to get a grip before she can handle seeing that gleeful smirk, guaranteed to be plastered on his pale face.

Blowing her tousled hair out of her eyes, she glances up at him.

Yeah, there it is.  That mischievous little smirk that makes him appear so young and carefree. 

“Ever graceful, my sweet songbird,” he drawls, leaning casually against a counter. 

She hustles to her feet before he can offer her a hand only to drop her on her ass again.  Brushing off her ridiculous dress, she sets about the business of picking up the stupid apples and finding the damn garlic.

“You need not trouble yourself with cooking.  I have a servant doing this for you.  Surely, you’ve seen her deliver your meals and take your laundry,” he says, watching her movements intently as she gets out the ingredients for pasta sauce.

“The hunched lady,” she says absently as she chops onions and red peppers.

He chuckles.  “Indeed.”

Silence stretches.  She can feel his eyes on her back, but continues to prepare her dinner with sure, practiced movements.  Although her sunburn faded after only a couple of days, he still seems to watch her as if anything at any moment will cause her physical harm.

“Where is she this night?” Loki asks.  “The hunched lady?”

Ellie glances at him over her shoulder as she begins to sauté onions, peppers, and garlic.  His gaze is intense, as if he is struggling to puzzle something out.

“She doesn’t cook anymore,” Ellie replies with a shrug, turning back to the pan.  “I’m better at it anyway.”

“It is beneath you,” he says slowly, as if he is speaking to a child.  “Below your station as someone with such great and powerful talent.”

Ellie grins as she opens cans of tomatoes.  Growing up in North Carolina, they would can all the excess of tomatoes from the garden at the end of the summer and use them for the rest of the year to cook with.  The little memory makes her sad.

“I like it,” she murmurs.  Although Loki is obviously crazy and hung up on some truly antiquated views about authority and social hierarchy, she does really enjoy it when he starts ranting about her great and powerful talent.  “I like cooking.”

“You… like it?” he asks, struggling to understand.

Ellie nods, pouring the store bought tomatoes into a large stainless steel pot.

“You enjoy food preparation?  As a servant would?”

She just nods again, only rolling her eyes slightly.

“And this is another talent of yours?”

More nodding.  He is so talkative and curious this evening.  Normally he doesn’t make an appearance until well into the night, and when she does see him there is very little talk, just a simple demand from him to sing.

“I will judge this talent for myself,” he declares, daring her to challenge his resolve.

Again, she glances over her shoulder, giving him a small smile.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “The sauce needs to simmer for awhile.”

“Unfortunately, I have no other pressing engagements.”

Ellie nods.

Silence once again reigns as she finishes the pasta sauce.  As it simmers she quickly and efficiently cleans her mess, returning ingredients to their proper place and wiping down the counters.

On a night that passes for normal here in the underground bunker, Ellie would take a nap or shower or something while she waits, but Loki is right here, watching her.  It makes her skin hot, and although she wants nothing to do with him, she’s been so lonely.  In this moment, she is desperate to keep him close as long as possible. 

She settles on baking.  The tools in the kitchen are basic, but it is well stocked with every imaginably ingredient.  Chocolate chip cookies are familiar and delicious and she could use a little comfort food.

Baking has never been her strong suit.  It is too precise a practice, and she does not have the focus to get the measurements just right, but she is confident in her ability to manage cookies. 

It turns into a messy process, and she gets flour everywhere, but more amazing smells fill up the small kitchen and Loki takes a seat on a stool at a counter directly behind her.  It’s just where she usually takes her meals alone.

By the time she takes first batch out of the oven, the pasta sauce has thickened nicely.  Letting the cookies cool, she fills another pot with water for the spaghetti. 

Again, there is nothing to do but wait, and the thought of standing idle with Loki so near is just terrible, so she goes back to the fridge to dig out salad fixings.  She makes her own balsamic vinaigrette.

The water boils, she adds the pasta, and again all she can do is wait.

Ellie puts two gooey cookies on two small plates and pours two small glasses of milk.  Avoiding Loki’s intense gaze, she sets the food on the counter in front of her captor.  When he makes no move to touch any of it, she slides the cookie and the milk right under his nose.

He stares down at the dessert, obviously skeptical and verging on mildly repulsed.  She smiles, finding his lack of knowledge of such simple things to be endearing.   Choosing to lead by example, she takes her cookie, dunks it in her milk, takes a bite, and then watches him expectantly.

With very reluctant movements, he does as she did, his eyes going wide as he chews.  Now she is the one smirking.

“Is this magic?” he inquires.

Ellie giggles and he jerks back a little, as if he is surprised by the sound.

“I never anticipated such a simple and visually unappealing dessert to taste so divinely decadent,” he declares.  “Do Midgardians often eat sweets before super?”

She gives him a shrug and gets up to finish preparing their dinner.  Five minutes later she is sliding another plate of food under his nose.

“What is this?” he demands, totally disgusted.

“Pasta with red sauce and a salad,” she replies.

He just scowls at her as if he’s a little kid who’s been told he can’t leave the table until he eats his vegetables.  The image makes Ellie smile.

She doesn’t attempt to talk him into anything as she eats.  The sauces is decent, the best she could expect given the quality of the ingredients, but still an edible effort.  She manages to get down a few bites, but the cookie filled her up.  Ellie hasn’t really enjoyed food, the preparation or the consumption, since she left home, but the boredom here drove her to rediscovering her talents in the kitchen.

Loki takes a tentative first bite.  He chews thoughtfully before really digging in.  Again, his quick pace and enthusiasm makes her smile.  Although he makes no comment on the quality of the meal, he eats everything she piled on his plate.

“Have you finished?” he inquires as she pushes the leftovers around in front of her.

Ellie nods in response.

“But you are so slight.  Surely it would be beneficial for your health if you indulged in more food,” he says.

She just shrugs as she stands, collecting their plates and moving to the sink to do the dishes.  Loki lets out an annoyed huff, but for once she isn’t deliberately trying to irritate him so she has no idea what his problem is.

“Why do you not speak?” he asks.

“I speak.”

“In extremely small increments.”

Ellie nods and cleans the kitchen.

“Tell me, what do you know of the procurement processes and time frame for rare building materials?”

She sends him a look over her shoulder, one that he correctly interprets as saying “ _I have no idea, you crazy fool.  What a weird thing to ask._ ”

Loki sighs.  “I grow inpatient to get my plans underway.  This period of waiting is extremely vexing and I find your presence somewhat distracting from this.”

She watches him warily for a moment before turning back to the dishes.

“And now you clean?  Why do you insist on disgracing yourself with the work of servants?” he demands, growing angry.

She just shrugs and continues her work.  He lets her finish before snagging her wrist and dragging her towards his bedroom.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says.

“An instrument?” she asks, giddy with anticipation.  Now she is the one dragging him.

It’s an acoustic guitar.  A beautiful black Gibson.  Without even waiting for him to demand it, she picks it up and starts to play.  She plops down on the foot of his bed without really thinking about it, and she is too enthralled with the new instrument to notice the look of horror he sends her.

But she sings and he reclines and that’s that.

* * *

 

It proves extremely easy to please Eleanor Tate.  He simply gives her a new instrument every few days.  It keeps her complacent and cures her boredom and has her flinging herself into his arms at great frequency.

And it pleases Loki as well.  He enjoys hearing the variations of song she comes up with now that she has more tools than just her remarkable voice at her disposal.  Her talent surpasses what he originally assumed her to have.

Most impressive is the adaptability of her voice.  She seems to understand many different styles, some he appreciates, some he bans her from ever using again.

The banjo he provides gives her considerable joy, and he allows her near half of an hour to fiddle around on it until he demands she sing.  Something strange happens to her voice.  She calls it “twang.”  Loki threatens to take away her banjo if she dares do it again.  He knows she rolls her eyes, but can’t summon the energy to punish her for her insolence.

She does terrible things with the electric guitar and he really does confiscate this particular instrument.  She bites her lip, points her chin to her chest, and looks at with him with those large, shockingly blue eyes of hers.  When she smiles he thinks she might be mocking him, but then she returns to the piano, playing a piece in the elegant styles she knows he prefers.

Still the words that accompanied the noisy guitar song were compelling.  “ _I just want to believe.  I just want to believe.  I just want to believe.”_

Often he plays no attention to the actually words, ignoring the lyrics and letting the sounds soothe him.

He thinks about her often, more often than he’s comfortable with, but refuses to analyze his actions.  Progress in this preparation phase is slow, but the game is set, and she is a welcome distraction, nothing more.

Waiting on the pathetic fumbling of SHIELD is maddening, but the more they come to understand the earthly science behind the tesseract, the less time it will take him to construct a way to open a portal after he takes it.  For now there is little to do but wait on SHIELD and his false brother’s dear mortal, Dr. Erik Selvig.

He keeps himself occupied during the day, carefully monitoring the work on the tesseract, but all the pathetic mortals retire at night, leaving him little to watch except for the progress being made on his own work station which proves equally boring.

That leaves Eleanor Tate, his songbird.

Each night she stays a little longer in his company.  She performs a variety of pieces and then he amuses himself by forcing her to speak.  It makes her uncomfortable, his constant barrage of questions, and he revels in it.

There is a loneliness in Eleanor Tate that is far too familiar.  When he forces her to speak at times he wonders if it is she who can read minds.  Her words often describe his own jumbled, confused feelings to a degree of accuracy that is alarming.  Instead he chooses to ignore their commonalities.

He wants her submission and obedience and loyalty, but there are moments when he is unable to determine if he has any.  Loki often sees something in her eyes, a flash of rebellion that makes him question their every interaction. 

She kneels when she’s told, although he only asked once because the look she on her face from her position on the floor made him want to touch her again, intimately. 

She speaks when asked direct questions.

She finally dresses in a way he deems appropriate.

She sings nightly at his command, tempering her selections to fit his taste.

But he remains dissatisfied.  Mockery lingers in her gaze, an edge that tells him she is simply placating him, pleasing him but not meaning it. 

He wants her to mean it.

The thought is inane, and he cannot quite determine how to possess her entirely.  What command could he possibly give her to demand genuine submission?  Something about her prevents him from knowing her thoughts, and he certainly can’t control them.

There is a reason he is known as silver tongue.  His ability to get in someone’s mind, to lead them using words on the path to destruction at their hand is unparalleled, but Eleanor Tate remains a mystery to him.

But he needs her distraction. 

When he is alone and idle, his thoughts get muddled.  He thinks about the before, and it confuses him.  There are voice in his mind that he fails to banish, some bone-chillingly horrible and others painfully loving.  He thinks on his false family and this is unacceptable.

Thor pushed him into the abyss.  While with the Other he was sure of this final betrayal, but now something about the memory feels as false as his family.  It hurts to think on, so he spends his free time irritating Eleanor Tate or reveling in her songs.

Her voice drowns out all the others.  It brings him a fragile sort of peace.

* * *

 

“You wish to keep your talent your own. You do not want any one else to hear it,” he ventures several nights later as he once again watches her cook.  It is now something of a nightly ritual with them.  She prepares food that appears disgusting and uneatable, but upon tasting her creations he is nearly always pleasantly surprised.  Eleanor never eats much, and her lack of appetite worries him.  She is so slight and it would not do for her to simply keel over dead. 

What would drown out the voices then?

Ellie shakes her head as she ladles broth into a deep white bowl in response to his question.  Her customary silence both pleases him and irritates him, depending on his mood.  Now it is the later.

“But you claimed on your first night here that you could not imagine anything worse than the world hearing you sing,” he reminds her.

“I wish to be anonymous,” she corrects, pushing the bowl across the counter towards him.  “I just want to be left alone.”

He takes a spoon from her, but is not prepared to let the subject drop. 

“You do not wish to be respected for your gifts?  To have lesser beings give you the reverence you deserve?” he pushes.

She shakes her head again and takes her customary stool directly across from him.

“ _Eleanor_ ,” he snaps, demanding she elaborate.

“Loki,” she says, exasperated with his endless questions.  It is rare that she says his name, but he finds that he likes the way it sounds spoken in her melodious tones.  “Have you even thought through this whole ruling the world deal?  I just don’t get it.  Why would you want to deal with the problems of mortals?  I mean, after the whole glorious conquest, assert your dominance part, you actually have to _rule_.  It sounds awful.  That means keeping people from killing each other or killing themselves or blowing shit up.  Sounds like a bum deal to me.”

He just blinks at her.  She just gave him far more words in this one moment than the entirety of their conversations combined.

A voice is back in his head.

“ _I never wanted the throne!  I only wanted to be your equal.”_

Is this a memory?  A dream? Were these his words?  The voice sounds similar to his, but twisted with tears and laced with pain.  Is this some long forgotten truth?

Eleanor is staring at him with wide eyes.  He realizes that he was thinking out loud, mumbling under his breath.

Pushing out the voices, he grabs her hand and drags her to his bedroom.  He needs to hear her sing.

* * *

 

“Tell me of your home,” he demands.

They sit facing each other at their customary counter in the kitchen, awaiting the meal Eleanor prepared as it cooks in the oven.  Her dishes are sloppy and she has no sense of aesthetics when it comes to presentation, but he cannot find fault in the tastes and smells she creates.  Loki eats as much as he can manage, but he went without sustenance for so long in the Void, the flavors often prove too rich for consumption.

Now they await supper.  Waiting is something he never did much of until he floated off into nothingness, but now it is how he spends the majority of his time. 

Loki loathes waiting.

His mind unoccupied is a dangerous place, pull of painful memories and long shadows, so he amuses himself by badgering his songbird.  As of late he has grown evermore curious of her origins, thus his inquiry.

Eleanor does not speak, but answers his question with a silent shrug.  She is being particularly difficult on this night, but Loki finds he enjoys her discomfort as much as her always surprising answers.

“Is it a terrible place?” he wonders.  “Or perhaps so perfect that you choose now to horde its memory, to keep it for yourself.  Surely you know by now there is no longer any part of you outside my ownership.”

As he speaks, Loki moves around the counter to better crowd her with his height and width.  Nothing makes Eleanor squirm in repulsion quite like his violation of the space around her person.

She does not disappoint now as a very slight blush tinges her cheeks.

“Is your home idyllic?” he continues, leaning over her slight frame to further intimidate her.  Still, he refrains from touching her.  This always proves to elicit an unwanted reaction from his ridiculous body.

In response to his questioning, Eleanor actually snorts.  It is a horribly undignified sound, but Eleanor displays no shame.

“So my first guess was correct?” he continues.  Interpreting her facial expressions always proves a challenge.  “Your home is a terrible place?”  This would also explain the apparent ease with which she seems to have adjusted to her new life here with him as well as her lack of contact with any family members.

Eleanor shakes her head.

“Something in between?” he asks.

She shakes her head once more.

“Words,” he snaps, frustrated by her typical mystery.  “Use them immediately.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes at him, but speaks before he can reprimand her.

“It’s not anything,” she explains, shrugging her narrow, delicate shoulders.  “It’s not good.  It’s not bad.  It doesn’t exist.”

Her words, and the straightforward resigned way in which she delivers them, resonate deep within Loki.  As she continues to explain, as per his request, Loki regrets starting this game with her.

“Home isn’t a place,” she whispers, studying his face intently.  He succeeds in maintaining calm.  “It’s not my shitty little apartment in DC.”

“Eleanor,” he reprimands.

“It’s not the realm from which I hail,” she continues with a horrible imitation of his speech patterns.  It makes him smile.  “It’s something in your gut and I don’t have it.  I don’t even remember what that feels like.”

Loki gapes as her words rings so true, he once more wonders if she is more than she claims.  He wonders if she can know his mind in a way he can’t know hers.

When the brief fight for Midgard ceases he’ll build them both a home.

For long moments they simply gaze at each other with various levels of dismay and surprise before discomfort overwhelms him.

Loki gives her a lazy smirk.  “You are excessively chatty this evening, my pet.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes once more and fights a smile as she slides off the stool and peaks into the oven.  He watches her intently, striving to understand her inner workings.  The fondness he feels for her in this moment is unwarranted, unwanted, and potentially dangerous.   

The songbird hums to herself and Loki is wracking his mind for something about which to yell at her, when a blinding pain sears his skull.  He cries out involuntarily, clutching his forehead and steadying his shaken body on the nearby counter.

 The bone-deep darkness and crushing silence of the Void penetrates his consciousness as the grey face of the Other flashes before his eyes, but he fights the call.

Generally he goes willingly, knowing full well that to resist would bring nothing but searing pain, both mental and physical.

“Eleanor,” he says, gasping as he successfully comes back to himself.  Her extremely concerned facial features fill his vision and her hands flutter around his body as if she cannot decide what exactly to do.  “Leave,” he snaps through gritted teeth as the scepter materializes in his grasp.

He continues to fight the pull, but resistance is futile.  Any moment he will be back in the Void.

“Now, Eleanor!”

Something about his tone makes her jump, but she finally leaves him alone in the kitchen for a moment until he departs this worldly plane for the company of the Other.  It is the place, not the creature, that haunts him, but Loki manages to keep the panic at bay.

“You dare resist our summons?”  hisses the Other.  “And who is this pathetic being you keep at your side?”

Loki closes his eyes for only a moment, cloaking himself in the persona of king, and when he opens them again they burn with power and purpose.

* * *

 

She had been in his room.  Without him.  During his absence she was here, in his space, amongst his belongings.

Rage boils in his veins but he smiles wickedly. Long has he been awaiting an opportunity to punish her, to remind her of her place here as his in every conceivable way.

He was momentarily distracted from this task after his rash action resulted in her burned skin, but she long ago recovered from those hurts.

When he arrives in her chambers he finds them devoid of occupants.  Although he experiences a brief moment of panic at the thought that she somehow managed to leave him, he quickly tunes in to the sounds of running water and Eleanor’s garbled voice.

For a moment he smiles, enjoying the sounds of her crooning without inhibition, but then he remembers his rightful rage and her sneaky, unacceptable behavior.  It is not the first time he questions her true nature and her true goals.  Part of him still believes that she allowed herself to be taken in order to fulfill some nefarious purpose that threatens to destroy his carefully laid out plans.

“ _You might think that I won’t make it on my own, but now I’m stronger than yesterday,”_ Eleanor wails.  She continues to make some rather bizarre noises.  What a being claiming to be a Midgardian can possibly know of strength is beyond him.

The shower turns off and Loki melts into the shadows in her entryway.  Eleanor is exceedingly easy to startle, even if her fear is short lived.  In the past few weeks he has delighted in surprising her.

This is how her punishment will commence.

Amongst a billow steam she emerges from the bathing room, swathed in a green robe.  Her hair is an absolute disaster and her cheeks are rosy from the heat.  As she approaches her vanity she hums something to herself, the melody indistinct.

Loki feels a little bit like something is sitting atop his chest as he watches her grab a hairbrush.  She closes her eyes and belts out the lyrics into the handle portion of the brush.  She twirls around, singing, moving her hips in a way that is positively sinful, and he momentarily forgets his purpose in her chambers.

Despite the lack of refinement he favors, he appreciates the power of her voice in this moment.  She truly sings like no other.  If it were possible to rule a race with the power of song alone than all would bow to Eleanor Tate, his songbird.

Her foot catches the leg of the bed and she almost tumbles to the ground.  Loki tenses and is forced to quell a ridiculous urge to assist the mortal, but she recovers with a few grumbled curses. 

One so beautiful with such talent should by all accounts have much better limb control, but she is ever clumsy.

Eleanor attempts to run the brush through her unruly hair, but gives up when she encounters a few knots.  Discarding the item on her bed, she moves to her wardrobe to select her outfit for the evening.

Silently he places his body directly behind hers.  She opens the doors, reaches out to select a dress, and encounters a projection of the God of Mischief. 

“ _Eleanor_ ,” croons his double, giving her a maniacal grin.

His songbird’s reaction does not disappoint.  She lets out a high pitched scream, attempts to slam the door to the wardrobe shut, ends up closing it on her own toe, and then stumbles back into the flesh and bone version of the image that frightens her so, screaming once more.

His arms clamp around her, holding her immobile against the leather and metal of his attire.  Her body is taught as the string of a bow, and she lets out a whimper.

“Mean,” she whispers.  “You know I hate that.”

“What you hate is without consequence,” he snaps, voice low and lips moving against the shell of her ear. 

She tries to turn her head, to look at him, but Loki’s long fingered hand snakes around her throat.  A thumb presses into her jaw to hold her in place and he can feel her heartbeat pick up.

The first hints of fear seeping into her system please him.  It’s about time she learned this lesson.  Since the burning incident he’s been far too lax with her.

“You’re mad,” she observes. He is surprised to hear her speak at all.  “Why are you mad?”

“Are you as inept as you are insolent?” he hisses.  “You know why.  How dare you?”

The suddenness of her struggle to turn in his arms takes him by surprise, and when he moves to firm up his grip on her, his foot catches on her ankle.  They tumble to the ground.  He winces as the full weight of his body comes down on her slight frame.  A huff of air escapes her parted lips, along with a slight groan.

They are both still, momentarily shocked by the abrupt change in position. 

Loki is the first to move, shifting up onto his elbow to keep from crushing her. Eleanor’s cheek rests against the lengths of his forearm. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles. 

He growls, the hand that isn’t pinned under his songbird digs into her hip.  The tension is back in her body, and she lets out a small cry.

“Why?” he demands.

She sighs, the sound regrettably absent of fear and pushes her shoulder into his chest.  The message is clear.  He has found Eleanor to be exceedingly adept when it comes to nonverbal communication.

 _Let me turn_ , says her body language.

He hesitates.  The last thing he wants is to grant her anything, but seeing her eyes will help him find his truth.

When he remembers just how he found his truth last time, he clears his throat and grows hot.  Out of necessity he puts space between their bodies, letting her turn.

Seeing her laid out beneath him in this manner, her hair a tousled gold halo around her head, her eyes fixing him with that intense stare so unique to his songbird, does nothing to assist him in quelling the irrational and irritating desire pulsing through him.

He hardens his cold, dead heart against her.

“ _Why?”_ he yells.

She winces, furrowing her brow.

Another sigh from Eleanor.  Another growl from Loki.

Tentatively she reaches up, going slow to give him time enough to stop her.  Her fingertips make contact with his gaunt cheekbones and her thumb traces the dark bag under his blazing blue eye.

A flinch runs through the length of his frame, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Loki,” she says as if she is addressing an upset child.  “I was in your room—“

“So you do not deny it, then?” he hisses.  She remains unfazed by his aggression, her hand moving to cup the line of his jaw.

 “—because the piano is there.”

The explanation is as simple as it is believable.  Did he not witness the supreme joy the instrument gave her upon its unveiling? 

“I was bored,” she continues.  “You obviously don’t appreciate my makeovers so it seemed like a good alternative.  I’m sorry,” she says, fingers caressing his skin now.

His eyes go wide at her quiet apology.  What he would have once given to hear such a simple and heartfelt statement from any of the members of his false family, in particular the Allfather.

Eleanor says it with such ease, as if there is nothing to it, this admitting ones mistakes business.

But it is far from simple and her easy explanations are dismissed under the dark cloud of his suspicion.  He will never trust her.

Madness seems to overtake him once more.

Rage renewed, he bats away her delicate little hand and wraps his own much larger version around the long column of her neck.  The fear is back in her eyes, but she just lies passively beneath him, making no move to fight against his hold.

Taking into account her alleged mortality, he tightens his grip enough to make her uncomfortable, but not enough to do any long-term damage.

Her breath come in rasps, a painful reminder of what she’s like in the throws of pleasure.  The sounds combined with their current position leads him to consider fucking the truth out of her once more.

Or is this a convenient excuse?

Refusing to analyze his motivations or reaction when it comes to this girl, he lowers his face to hers.

“Do you dare enter your king’s chambers without permission and than presume to lie about your purpose?” he asks, voice low and chilling.  He feels the shiver run through her body and he moves his free hand slithering up her thigh and parting her robe.

This is a great repulsion for her.  He knows that the sight of him disgusts her, the thought of what he did to her upon their meeting horrifies her, but her gaze does not falter.  She does not squirm or push away from the monster.

“You are the God of Lies,” Eleanor Tate replies, staring him straight in the eye.  “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”

As is increasingly becoming the usual in regards to the cursed words that rarely tumble from her lips, they send a jolt of shock through his system, giving him pause.  The grip on her neck loosens and he cannot do anything but stare into her intent blue gaze.

“Loki.”  She says in hushed tones.  He feels something long lost within him shatter further.  “I haven’t been dishonest.  Not once.  The piano is in there.  I love the piano.”

He cannot even fathom loving something as Eleanor loves the piano.  He cannot even fathom being loved the way Eleanor loves the piano.

Expelling a great breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding, Loki closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers.  She calms him just as she confuses him.  She brings him joy just as she irritates him into madness.

When she wraps her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace, he doesn’t know what she means by it.

He lets his every muscle relax, body once more pinning hers to the ground.  His mind is blissfully blank for the first time in memory.

Eventually, and far too soon for Loki’s tastes, Eleanor shifts under him.  Quite begrudgingly, he opens his eyes and allows her to sit up, scooting out from under him.

“You may enter my chambers to play the piano, even in my absence,” Loki tells her, shocking both of them.

Eleanor gives him an enchanting smile.

“Is it time to sing?” she asks him.

“Oh, all right,” he replies.

 


	6. Faulkner and Freak Outs

He is not back from wherever he spends his days in time for dinner and Ellie is glad because she never actually got around to cooking anything today.  On this day, she misses her captor and the thought makes her so sick she is forced to drink a whole bottle of wine.

Bottle number two sits on the piano bench.  She can’t locate any appropriate glasses, nor does she make any real effort, so right out of the bottle it is.

The instruments soothe her for only a little while and Eleanor finds herself distracted by the bookshelf that dominates a corner of his large room.

Stumbling slightly, Ellie gets up from the piano in favor of exploring Loki’s personal library.  She has to go back a moment later to retrieve the wine.  As she moves to stand on unsteady feet in front of the shelves, she brings the bottle to her lips. 

The God of Lies is very well versed in both human and alien literature it would seem.  The symbols on most of the titles are strange and curve elegantly.  She wonders what it’s like on that far away planet.

Asgard, he calls his home. 

If that part of his tale is even true.  Although she’s sure of his terrifying power, Ellie can’t say if she believes this truly crazy part of his whole deal, the alien part.

Curious, she attempts to remove a heavy leather bound edition, but some magical force prevents her from doing so. 

For whatever reason, this makes Ellie grin.

There is only a slight sway in her stance.  Ellie takes this is a sign that she needs more wine.

Lordy, does she love wine.  All Tate women do.

Except she’s not a Tate woman. 

The thought depresses her.  She drinks more wine and hums under her breath. 

“ _We all live in a yellow submarine_ ,” she sings.  The phrase is far from perfect.  The combination of drinking and singing seems to have given her the hiccups.  “ _A yellow submarine.  A yellow submarine.  A yellow sub—_ ”

She hiccups again.  It interrupts the lyric and she gives up. 

And then Loki is back.

For once his appearance just behind her does not cause her to jump out of her skin.  The wine has slowed her reactions way down and nothing is scary anymore.

She gives him a big smile but refrains from telling him she missed him.  He looks her up and down for a long moment, taking in the bottle of wine dangling at her side as she smiles and sways.

“What’s all this, then?” he asks. 

Through glassy eyes Eleanor admires the intricate armor that covers his crossed forearms. 

“Hello,” she replies, continuing to ogle him shamelessly.  Ellie gives him another lazy grin.

“You are intoxicated,” he observes.

“And you were missed,” she replies, mimicking his voice.  She forgets that she decided not to tell him that.  She raises her bottle to him and takes another sip, toasting him.

Loki puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her and confiscates the wine.  He stares at her like she’s an alien, which is funny because he is _actually_ an alien.

Maybe.

“You’ve consumed nearly half,” he says, continuing to frown as he sloshes the liquid around.  “This is a great deal of wine for a alleged Midgardian of your stature, is it not?”

Ellie thinks of the empty bottle hidden in the new recycle bin in the kitchen.  It took three days of pleading to get such a container, but he finally gave in when she started going on about saving the environment of his new realm.  Her verbosity on the subject seemed to alarm him.

“Eleanor?”

When she fails to answer, Loki rolls his eyes and takes a swig.  Grinning wildly she steals the bottle back. 

Before she can take another sip, an army of green lady bugs files out of the bottle and onto Ellie’s arm.  In her shock she lets out one of those squeaks he seems so fond of and drops the bottle.  It shatters into flower petals rather than glass.

Ellie stares at the pale petals and lady bugs at her feet, not really believing it.  But this is Loki and he is all magicy, so she accepts this as by far the most pleasant thing he’s ever done with his power.

“Dude,” she says, dragging her eyes away from the floor to grin at him.  “You are amazing, you know that?”

He gapes at her in shock, but Ellie cannot imagine why this statement would surprise him so.

“Now if only we can get you to use your powers for good,” she muses. 

And the glare is back. 

He captures her chin and examines her lips.  It makes her dizzy, being this close to him.

“Your teeth are red,” he mutters. 

His statement inspires a song and she closes her eyes. 

“ _Old gypsy woman spoke to me_ ,” she croons, swaying in time with the music in her head.  Carefully stepping around the petals, she takes his hand and places it on her hip.

“ _Lips stained red from a bottle of wine.”_ She takes his free hand and places hers on his shoulder. 

“What is this?” he asks, not sounding nearly as cranky as he’s trying to be.

 _“Old gypsy woman spoke to me.”_ She continues to sway and his body follows her movements.  “ _Lips stained red from a bottle of wine.  The one that you are looking for, you’re not gonna find her, here, here, here.”_

Loki holds her a little closer.  Ellie can’t stop smiling and the lyrics get a little garbled as she continues to sing.

“ _You’re a wolf.  You’re a wolf.”_

“You are a very odd little of creature,” he muses when her song ends.  Still, they continue to sway.

“You too,” she says, her head lolling back so she can get a good look at his stupidly perfect face.  “Except, you know, you’re like fifteen feet tall instead of little and a freaking god instead of a creature.  But I’m not a creature either.  I’m a lady.”

The smirk he gives her reminds her that he’s actually a psychopath bent on world domination.  She stops swaying and puts space between their bodies. 

The confusion is back in his eyes.  For one little moment they appear green rather than blue, but Ellie blames this on the wine. 

She could really use more wine.

Abruptly she takes his hand.  He allows her to pull him towards the kitchen. 

“Have you prepared a meal?” he asks.

“Tonight we’ll drink our dinner.”

* * *

 

They sit together on the floor, legs crossed, knees touching.  The latest bottle of wine is cradled between Loki’s palms and Ellie stares at the heavy bound leather book sitting in her lap. 

It is one in the section magically banned to Ellie, but it took minimal pleading to convince Loki to get it down for her.  It is an introduction to magic, something sort of like a primer given to grade school kids.  The language is nothing but scribbles to Ellie, but pictures dominate most of the pages.  This is probably why Loki chose this particular selection.

“You can do all this?” Ellie asks in awe, running her fingers over the beautifully drawn images of an Asgardian woman identifying and drawing out the energy of the world around her.  This section seems to be on the manipulation of light.

“Without thought,” Loki replies, his speech slightly slurred.  Ellie badgered him into drinking four bottles on his own in the spirit of evenness, but in exchange he cut her off.  “I’ve been able to do this for a millennia.  It is so simple even you could accomplish it with proper training.”

The snotty and superior way he says this should be offensive, but instead his words make Ellie light up.  “Really?” she asks, beaming and excited.

“Magic interests you?” he asks, sounding skeptical. 

“Obviously,” she drawls.  “Why do you think I’ve been making you talk to me about it for the last hour?”

“You are in no position to make me do anything, mortal.”  His words lack heat and mostly he just gapes at her.  Ellie leans over and pokes at his bottom lip until he collects himself.  He bats away her hand.

“Why is this so shocking?” she asks.

“Alcohol makes you annoyingly loquacious,” he snaps, eyes narrowing. 

They’ve had such a good evening without the appearance of crazed, cranky Loki, and Ellie wants to keep the good vibes going.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, looking at the pages again.  “I’m curious.  It’s just… I am in awe of what you can do.  Absolute awe.”

Tonight she’s in awe.  Tomorrow she’ll remember Mr. Cutter holding a blade to his own throat and his blank, blank face.  Tomorrow she’ll go back to being horrified. 

“This is what surprises me,” he admits.  “From where I hail, magic does not inspire awe.  It is considered the lesser man’s art.  A crutch for those who lack the strength and power for true battle.”

Ellie pulls a face.  “Well, that’s just fucking stupid.”

“Eleanor,” he chastises, but again it lacks heat. 

“This is brilliant,” she continues.  “Will you show me something brilliant?”

He looks at her as if he’s never seen her before.  Ellie shifts under the intensity of his stare, her skin flushed.  She swears she sees the green in his eyes again.

Abruptly Loki finishes the wine, disappears the bottle, and lies flat on his back.  Ellie blinks at the space Loki occupied a moment ago before she gets the memo and crawls over to lay down next to him. 

“I hope you recycled that bottle,” she murmurs.  Going with her first instinct, Ellie wiggles in to the nook between his arm and shoulder.  Her fingers curl into the silky fabric of his tunic.  All the armor and leather disappeared somewhere around bottle number two.  She presses her body into his and ignores that voice in the back of her head that whispers that he is evil and vile and dangerous. 

Her drunkenness keeps her from questioning the wisdom of this position until she notices the tension in Loki’s body.  At first his discomfort makes her feel guilty, but then she decides to enjoy it.  He is always making her feel extremely uncomfortable. 

Eventually Loki relaxes, his fingers weaving into her hair at the back of her head.

“Stars are brilliant, are they not?” he whispers.

Before Ellie can formulate a response, Loki waves his hand and the ceiling above them transforms into the night sky. 

Ellie gasps, her eyes going wide.  Some stars drift close and she reaches out to touch one, gasping again when it spirals away from he finger, swirling like a top and leaving a trail of light in its wake.

“Now you’ve ruined the balance of the universe,” he says, sounding as serious as she’s ever heard him. 

She raises a skeptical eyebrow in his general direction. 

The responding chuckle from the God of Mischief makes him seem so young and carefree.

“You wish to see brilliance,” he murmurs, gently messaging her scalp.  “Tell me, have you ever seen a star die?”

She shakes her head.

Loki flicks his wrist and the view seems to zoom in on a specific little dot of light until it appears as large and bright as the sun. 

Ellie watches, enraptured by the sight before her.  Loki watches her.

She can feel the carpet at her back and his huge green bed is visible through the dense illusion if she really tries to see it, but it feels so real.  It is so quiet and so still and so very, very brilliant.

They travel through space, watching his star die before moving through nebulas and galaxies and other wonders.  There is so much color here Ellie loses the ability to speak.

Brilliant doesn’t seem to cover it somehow.

It becomes a struggle to keep her eyes open.  She fights for the better part of an hour, but eventually her drunkenness and sleepiness gets the better of her.  Although it seems like her eyes fall shut for only a moment, when she opens them again, Loki is carrying her to her room.

“Teach me magic,” she mumbles as she snuggles closer to the god she’ll go back to hating in the morning.  “Please?”

“When I come to rule this world I will do this for you.”

She shakes her head, but still doesn’t open her eyes.  “It has to be before then.”

“Why, Eleanor?”

“Because I won’t like you enough to want to learn after.”

He is quiet as they enter her room.  Her eyes stay closed and everything feels like a dream.

“You like me now?” He sounds so lost.  It confuses her.

“I like you now.”  She’s not sure if the words come out of her mouth or if they stay in her head now that he’s placed her carefully in her own bed.  “Just like this.  I like you now.”

In her head she asks him to stay, but her mouth knows better and Ellie finally falls asleep to stay until morning.

* * *

 

Things change. 

It is slow, and at first she doesn’t even notice it, but one night they play chess and the next as well. Sometimes they read, spending hours together in silence.  His daily disappearances shorten as well.   Ellie becomes accustom to his quite presence, and sometimes she forgets how scary he can be.  She has to remind herself often that he is her captor bent on world domination, not her roommate and certainly not her strange friend.  When he is with her, he is so tired and often confused as well so loathing him is a struggle.

She has so many questions, none of which she dares ask.

He seems to be all alone, save for her.

Ellie takes to cooking the evening meal for both of them.  The hunched old woman that once delivered all her meals stops appearing anywhere in the hallway, expect to collect Ellie’s dirty clothes.

She enjoys cooking and although Loki is never one to offer a compliment, he joins her in the kitchen, listening to her sing to herself as she prepares their meal.  There isn’t a table, but they sit on either side of a counter, facing each other on stools.

He is so beautiful and everything feels so domestic, Ellie has a hard time holding on to her simmering hate for him and the entire situation.  She does not miss her old life.  Perhaps that is part of her shocking adaptation to this new one as a prisoner. 

Before he took her away, she was so apathetic about everything.  She sang the same tired songs nightly and spent the rest of her time alone with a guitar or her banjo in her miniscule apartment she could barely afford.  Sometimes she would go to a music store where they let her play the piano in the window display until close.  That was a highlight.

Here she is also alone for the majority of her waking hours, but she can play whatever she wants, whenever she wants.  She writes.  There is no need to worry about making enough money to cover rent.  In some ways she feels freer in this instrument infested prison than she did in her old, dull life.

When he returns he proves an uncomfortable but not unpleasant companion.

And just what does that say about her? She is more content trapped in the bowels of the earth with a sometimes psychotic alleged god with terrifying plans and power, than she has been since she left her whole life behind in North Carolina eight years ago.

The thought makes her sick.

No question.  There is something majorly wrong with her, and although that has been obvious for a long time, this is a new disturbing low, even for her.

She isn’t happy.  She doesn’t do happy, not since her fake father died, but she is content.  She doesn’t dread the moment when she wakes up everyday and gets small amounts of joy from the instruments and the songs she crafts.

Loki remains an enigma.  He likes music and an entire wall in his unnecessarily large bedroom is devoted to hundreds of books.  He goes from quite and calm to stressed and confused in a blink of an eye.  It’s somewhat terrifying and she often wonders what’s wrong with him because something is very obviously off.

Sometimes he mutters to himself, pacing around his chambers, only stopping abruptly when he remembers that he isn’t alone.  She always gets sent away right after that, but for the most part he seems to want her near.

When he gets that lost puppy look she has to sit on her hands to prevent herself from reaching out to provide a little comfort.  That look comes over his elegant features, he turns those haunted eyes on her, and she feels a deep sense of commiseration, as if he is just like her, broken, alone, and aimless.

Her song selection for their nightly concerts changes as well.  In the beginning it was silly, meaningless songs, mostly top forty and kids stuff.  Next it was protest songs, songs about freedom and rebellion and the triumph of the human spirit.  Now she occasionally finds herself slipping in a song she that actually speaks to her own troubled soul.

Tonight Loki doesn’t show for dinner.  She eats alone at their counter, more moving the food around on her plate and watching the door than actually eating anything.  After an hour and a half she gives up on him and stuffs the whole thing in the fridge.

Loki doesn’t really do leftovers and Ellie doesn’t really eat unless he forces her too, but it seems a shame to throw away all this food.

Moping, Ellie passes her own bedroom door in favor for his.  She wonders if it is a big deal that he gave her access to his personal space.  It feels like a big deal.

The piano is her ultimate destination.  She messes around with a piece she’s been composing for the last couple of weeks, but her inspiration falls flat.  With a frustrated huff, she lets her fingers fall heavily on the keys, causing an angry dissonance of notes.

Moving to his wall of books, Ellie is not surprised that the Asgardian selection stays glued to the shelf.   She smiles at his preemptive preparation and tries a collection of short stories by William Faulkner next.  This one willingly leaves the shelf.  Ellie considers taking her book back to her bed, but his is so large and cozy looking.  The moment he arrives home he’ll just get her anyway, probably in some creepy way that scares her half to death.

He just loves making her jump.

Although she’s never been so bold as to lie down here, Ellie takes the risk.  She’s been alone all day and he’s been really not evil lately – to her at least – so she settles herself again the pillows, bringing her reading glasses onto her face from the top of her head.

She gets all the way through “A Rose for Emily,” a delightfully disturbing tale, before her eyes flicker closed.  Time is impossible to determine in the bunker without the wristwatch sitting on her vanity, but Ellie knows it’s late enough for her to worry.

* * *

 

Her cheek is pressed into something cool and warm and soft and hard.  These seem like contradicting states, but somehow whatever she is cuddle up to manages to be all four of these things all at once.

A sigh escapes her throat, and her sleep-addled brain has her questioning if this is some strange dream.  It is a good dream and she is surrounded by a wonderful smell that makes her feel safe.  She is hesitant to open her eyes.

As she fully wakes, she becomes more aware of her surroundings.  She is spooned around a much larger body, her nose pressed into his spine.  Every bit of her front seems to be lying against every bit of his back, from her face against his shoulder blade to her feet tucked in between his calves.  Her arm is thrown around his narrow waist.

She shifts slightly, cuddling closer.

There are ridges and lines that obscure the smoothness of his naked back.  With her nose she traces the line of a thin scar.

Her eyes fly open when she understands just where she is.  It has been a very long time since she woke up in bed with a warm body (or in his case slightly chilled). Not since high school has she been near another person like this.

It freaks her out.

And the worst part is her clinginess. 

He must have returned to his bedroom to find her snoring away in his bed.  For once he was overly kind and didn’t wake her.  Instead of respecting his space, her unconscious frame wrapped itself around his.  It’s embarrassing.  Totally horrifying.

Why didn’t he kick her out?  Scream at her for being all up in his personal space and make her sing or kneel or _something_?

She feels his even breathing against her chest and thanks whoever the hell is up there that he remains asleep.  Slowly, she attempts to remove her arm from around his waist, but stops abruptly when his hand prevents her escape.

It is this moment that Ellie becomes aware that his fingers are intertwined with hers.

She is so shocked to see this little sign that he covets her touch her breathing stops.  His breathing, on the other hand, remains deep and even.  Despite her fidgeting and her freak out, he sleeps on.

Bit by bit she convinces her body to relax against his.  If she could run away from this without waking him she would.  This is unfamiliar territory.  She doesn’t cuddle.  She doesn’t share affection or have sleepovers.

But Ellie finds she likes it here, tucked against the glorious back of him.  When she opens her eyes she is so close to him she can’t make out anything defined, just soft, pale skin, apparently marred by scars.

Again, she wonders just what happened to him.  What made him like this, so hateful and full of rage.

His hand keeps hers pressed into his abs.  It is hard work to resist the urge to explore the rippled planes of his stomach, but she is terrified to move, unwilling to ruin the moment.

She closes her eyes and pretends that this is a different life, that they are both different people.  In her fantasy, they are both blessedly normal.  They had happy, normal childhoods and have happy normal jobs.  They are a happy normal couple who do happy normal couple things, and waking up like this is a daily occurrence.

But then she feels his body tense against hers.  As he wakes up, she holds her breath, having no idea how he’ll react.  Her disgusting mortal flesh is smothering his divine form, but it would have been extremely easy for him to evict her from his room last night.  He could have terrified her into never getting within ten feet of his bed again.

This is really her fault for forgetting that this is her prison and he is her crazy evil captor.

The grip on her hand turns painful for a moment before he lets go entirely, as if her touch scalds him.

And maybe it does.

Although he drops her hand, he makes no move to put distance between their bodies.  She can feel the anxiety in him and the rapid acceleration of his breathing.  She stays totally still.

Another five minutes pass with excruciating slowness.  She attempts to remove her arm that’s draped around him, but his hand comes back.  He holds her arm so tight she’ll surely bruise.

Again, she freezes.  He stays still too, as if he is struggling to make a decision.  The waiting terrorizes her.  She lets out a whimper and then bites the side of her cheek in an attempt to stay calm and quiet.  She tilts her head, resting her cheek against the angry marks on his back.  Opening her eyes, she desperately tries to see the scars, but the light is too dim.

Suddenly she is yanked forward, into his lap.  He sits up abruptly, and her eyes go wide with shock when she feels him aroused between her legs.

“Lo—“ She starts to speak, but the look on his face has the word dying on her tongue.  He looks as panicked as a cornered animal, those blue eyes of his terrified. 

Despite his beautiful features, he looks terrible.  A low light left on in the bathroom cast shadows over his angular face, making his cheekbones look even more pronounced.  He appears gaunt and haunted.  The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead is nearly as disturbing as the dark bags under his eyes.

Although she’s seen him appear tired and worn, it has never been like this.

One day.  That’s it.  She did not see him for one day.  What could have possibly happened?

Summoning her courage, Ellie gives into the instinct to reach out for him, the one she has been studiously ignoring for weeks.  Her thumbs trace the dark circles under his eyes.

“Loki,” she murmurs, getting his name out this time.  That’s all she can say.  She can’t ask and he would never tell.

He regards her with suspicion, eyes narrowed, but she keeps touching him.  Her heart hammers in her chest, but she keeps touching him.  He seems to crumble before her eyes, and she feels his sorrow. 

Ellie makes up her mind to kiss him because she is obviously as unbalanced as her captor and slowly lowers her lips to his, giving him time to see her intention written in her gaze.  She gets close enough to feel his harsh breathing against her mouth before he turns away.  Instead Ellie’s lips connect with the hallow of his cheek.

At first she’s disappointed, and his rejection stings, but she kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck, giving him the hug she’s been resisting for so long now.

He does not return her embrace, nor can she tell if he wants her this close despite that hardness between her legs, but she can’t seem to help herself.  This strange and powerful being that requires her voice seems to need something else from her in this moment, and she doesn’t question her compulsion to give it to him.

Undoubtedly, the guilt and revulsion will come later.

His body seems to lurch against her and a chill goes up Ellie’s spine.  Confused, she pulls back to look down at herself.  She blinks rapidly in the half-light thrown from the bathroom, shocked to see her own nudity.

How long has she been naked?

Last night she fell asleep in his bed in one of her thousands of green dresses.  She glances around, thinking maybe she somehow wiggled out of the garment in her sleep.

But he’s naked too.

She clearly remembers the feel of his silky pajama pants against her legs as she played big spoon.

 A little gasp of surprise escapes her lips and she turns her shocked gaze back to his.  The manic grin and the gleam in his eye make her cringe.

During her time with him, she’s seen wondrous, remarkable, horrible things.  Loki is an alleged god with the ability to steal identities and project clones of himself. He’s shown her the universe and broken glass into flower petals.  Surely it shouldn’t be too difficult to magic away a dress and some pants.

“Loki, wha—“

A large palm covers her mouth.  Her eyes narrow, and she gets angry with him for the first time in a long time.  The man handling is simply unacceptable, and she seriously considers biting his stupid palm, but thinks better of it given his mood.

Despite her internal freak out, she tries to wear the mask, to hold onto the apathy.

The madness is back in his eyes.  It’s been weeks since she saw him looking this deranged and it breaks her heart.

“Now is no time to revise your opinion on speech,” he hisses in her ear, using the hand on her face to hold her still.  Unconsciously she tires to get away from him, but his arm snakes around her lower back, holding her squirming frame as if she’s nothing.  The restraint might as well be metal.  “I like you silent, Eleanor.”

His tone is like ice.  It scares her and makes her feel like a total fool for growing complacent.  Over the course of their rather peaceful weeks, she got comfortable here, but even worse she allowed herself to trust him and deluded herself into thinking that he might like her a little bit. 

Maybe even liking him a little bit.

Just a little bit.

All sympathetic feelings are gone now.  All delusions are abruptly put to a stop with this cruel slap of reality, the way he exerts his will on her body, and a fleeting image of Mr. Cutter with his glowing eyes pressing a knife to his own jugular.

She’s a motherfucking idiot, falling asleep in the goddamn lions den.  She gave him something that matters.

As Loki’s restraining fingers dig into her hip and face, Ellie scrambles for a way to stop this, for a way to get away from him unscathed.  He’s taken away both her freedom to move and her freedom to speak, all the while confusing her traitor body with the feel of skin on skin.

This should not be so shocking, given her imprisonment and his views on the concept of freedom itself.

So she gives him what he wants.  She goes limp in his arms and pulls on the mask.  Everything about her conveys blankness.  He wants a passive little doll to command, to bend to his every whim, so that’s what she becomes.  A doll.  A blank, lifeless, _subject_ that stays motionless until he gives an order.

She’ll be like Mr. Cutter with his blank, glowing eyes.

It’s a gamble, willing her body to remain so utterly submissive, but she’s gotten the feeling that Loki really has no idea what he’s doing when it comes to this bizarre little relationship.  She’ll see what he does when she acts just the way he claims to want.

Her change immediately garners his attention.  A frown graces his lips.  The confusion is back in his eyes.

“Eleanor?” he asks, giving her a slight shake.  She lets her head loll limply on her shoulders.  Her eyes stare blankly at the wall behind his shoulder.  “ _Eleanor_ ,” he hisses with warning.

Her lips move against his hand and he removes it.  Her voice is freed.

“Yes, sir?” she asks, totally emotionless.

He growls, apparently not appreciating her apathy.  And she is so very good at apathy.  It’s long past time she got back to it.

“What is this?” he demands, giving her another shake.  Her body moves like a rag doll and she keeps her eyes downcast, submissive, just what he wants.

“Nothing, sir.”

“ _Sir?”_  he spits out.  A long fingered hand wraps around her neck, forcing her to look at him.  Again, she studies the wall.  He notices.  “Stop this immediately, Eleanor.”

“I apologize, sir, but I do not understand your request.”

He gapes at her.  She feels the desire to smirk, but keeps her face blank.

“Stop.  This.”

This time she stays silent.  Keeping her body malleable, she drives him a little crazy.

She feels him, still hard and pinned between their bodies.  Ignoring this proves almost impossible and threatens to crumble her resolve.  She bites the side of her cheek to prevent a whimper from escaping her lips.

He closes his eyes, breathing so erratically she actually worries for a moment about his health.  An inane thought, no doubt, but one that flickers through in head anyway.  She ignores those lingering instincts to comfort, to ask him what happened, and remains a passive little minion.

“Eleanor,” he begs.  The whimper in his voice gives her pause.

“Yes, sir?” She very nearly chokes on the question.

His eyes, so dark they appear onyx, flash open.  The emotion held there once more does something strange and unpleasant to her insides.

His dark head tilts down, and he gazes at their naked bodies with confusion, as if he can’t quite manage to figure out how they got this way.

With painfully unsure movements he moves the palm from its position on her hip to her stomach.  It just rests there, making her want to squirm again but in a totally different way.  She responds to his cool, oddly gentle touch and struggles to contain a soft sigh.

Maintaining her facade as a submissive subject, she just watches his hands move over her disgusting, mortal flesh.  She loses control of her breathing as the hand on her neck trails down he column of her throat, coming to rest on her right tit. 

The only movement of his hands comes from the rise and fall of her ever-escalating breathing.  Desire in coils in her belly, her knees tightening around him slightly as she straddles his thighs.

After minutes of stillness from the God of Lies that feel more like years to Ellie, the hand on her stomach moves lower, fingertips leaving goose bumps in their wake.  He stops when he reaches curls, his middle finger brushing her lightly before withdrawing.

She draws blood from the side of her cheek in an attempt to hold in a whimper.   She is half successful. 

“Eleanor?” he murmurs.  She glances up to see him watching his hands, looking where she was looking. 

She let’s out a shuttering breath, trying to find her words.

“Yes,” she whispers, trying to find the next word.  What is the next word?  There is another word.  She should call him something, refer to him in some way.  She tries again.  “Yes, Loki.”

That’s not right.  The thing she called him isn’t right.  And it didn’t come out as a question.  That should have been a question.

Something breaks in him, or maybe it breaks in her.  The hand on her tit squeezes now, and it becomes impossible to suppress her groan of pleasure laced with pain.  The noise gives her away, as if the wetness she’s getting all over his thigh wasn’t enough of an indication.  Her traitor body wants him in unfathomable ways, and Ellie has never been one to deny herself pleasure.

It escalates very quickly from there.

He bites her neck, she pushes her hands into his hair as she cries out, and then he’s inside her once more. 

The pace he sets is punishing, but she manages to roll her hips in time with his.  This is something she knows.  It’s something she’s good at.  Ellie closes her eyes and forgets anything but his touch.  In this moment he is not her enigmatic captor, but just another body in the dark. 

_Just another body in the dark.  Give him nothing that matters._

The sounds escaping his lips are just as desperate as his movements, and much more dangerous because they are unique to him.  His pants and moans threaten her comfortable place in the dark.  They tug on her mind, reminding her that he isn’t just another body in the dark.

Her name leaves his mouth, a jagged whisper, and the illusion is totally shattered.  Her eyes fly open, and she seeks out his gaze.  Loki slows and grows still beneath her.  The hands that were clutching at his shoulders for support move over his collarbones and up his neck to rest on either side of his face. 

She takes over, rocking against him in a way that makes his breathing grow even harsher.  Something big and uncomfortable seems to build up in her chest, and she’s never been one to shy away from pleasure, but this is different, unlike anything she’s felt before.  She slowly rolls her hips and watches the look of terrified awe on his face, and suddenly it’s not just her body that’s engaged.

He is as shocked as she is, that much is apparent, and the sensation is dizzying. A gasp tumbles from her lips as Loki’s hands once more take up their exploration of her fragile frame.  One long hand slides down her torso, touching her where they’re connected.  Her body spasms, and she leans more firmly into him.

“Loki,” she murmurs, a little breath separating the syllables of his name. 

He watches her intently, moving with her now, and his lips hover millimeters from hers.  Despite his earlier reaction when she tried to kiss him, she can’t resist.  The emotions are building in her chest, and she doesn’t know what to do with this excess of feeling, so she tries to kiss it away.  She is so close and she just wants one little kiss.

He doesn’t like that.

With a pained growl, Loki once more covers her mouth with a palm.  Before she can really comprehend anything outside the pleasure of his body, Ellie finds herself shoved away, bouncing on the mattress with a pained whimper at the loss.  A moment later and she’s face down in his green sheets, sprawled out on her stomach.

“Wha—“

Her breathless complaint is abruptly cut off when his fingers dig into her hips, pulling her onto her knees.  She winces when he pulls her hair, and then groans when his teeth skin into her shoulder.

Leaning on her elbows, her hands fists in the sheets as she wills herself not to meets his thrusts.  She was on the brink of some emotional epiphany there, and he denied her.  She doesn’t fight him as he pounds into her, his skin slapping against hers, but she won’t give him her pleasure either.  Little moans escape her chest in time with his thrusts, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying so desperately not to come.

She fails.

When it’s over she hides her face in his soft sheets.  She stays just where he left her, legs spread, skin chilled.  The mattress moves as lies down, his legs crushing hers. 

All that just happened penetrates her lust fogged brain as her heart rate slows and her muscles relax.  Panic stirs her insides and she fists her hands in the sheets to attempt to keep it at bay.

“What the fuck was that?” she mutters before she can stop herself.

He sighs heavily but otherwise stays silent.

For the thousandth time this morning, she bites her wounded cheek and wills herself not to cry.

“It’s today,” he whispers.  “It starts today.”

This is more information than Loki has shared with her since he first brought her here, and his words get her attention.  Giving herself another moment to be absolutely sure that she won’t spontaneously burst into tears, she sits up.  Her focus is so absolute she doesn’t even bother to cover her naked frame.

Although she could use a blanket.  He is so damn chilly.

“What does that mean?” she asks, eyes running over his long body.  He’s sprawled out on his back, messy back hair fanned out around his head.  Hands crossed over his stomach and face shockingly blank, he appears to be a fallen angel, resting peacefully.

Not once has she seen him peaceful.

“Loki, what does that mean?”

“It will be very late before I return tonight.  I will not require you.”

“You will not require me,” she repeats, feeling like a total idiot.  She pulls her knees up to her chin and closes her eyes.  For the first time in her long and experienced sexual history, she feels used and cheap.  Did she ever leave anyone feeling this way?  She sincerely hopes not.  “This is so fucked up.”

“Eleanor, _silence_ ,” he demands.

“You look terrible, you know that?” she murmurs, staring at those dark bags under his eyes.  He is emaciated, despite their nightly meals.  She counts his ribs.

Blue eyes flicker open.  He regards her in confusion before his features form into a familiar smirk.

“It is none of your concern.”

“Yeah, except I’m the one who has to look at you.”

“Oh how you would have loved to look upon my visage after eons floating in nothingness, when my teeth had all but rotted from my skull.  Or perhaps you would have preferred me during the last phase of my life with the majority of my flesh was flayed from my bones.  There wasn’t enough of it left to offend you with its grey pallor.”

Ellie covers her mouth with her palm as she gasps and gapes at him in horror.  She has so many questions, but in this moment she can feel nothing but heartbreak for this beautiful, tortured creature.

“Loki, what happened to you?“ she whispers.  I few hot tears escape her eyes, flowing down onto her cheeks.

“Stop talking, Eleanor.  You prefer not to.  Or have you forgotten?”

A series of deep breaths does nothing to calm her down.  Despite knowing it won’t do any good, knowing that it will do nothing but enrage him, she can’t manage to keep her mouth shut.

“Don’t do it,” she says, sounding more confident than she feels.  “I know you could.  I’ve seen the glowy stick of power and doom.  I know you could do it, but please don’t.  You don’t have to.  We can… I can help you not do it, whatever it even is.”

He sits up on his elbows, regarding her with amusement.  She knows she sounds desperate and weak, but she has to try right?  He wants to make the whole world kneel so she has to try.

“You’re like me,” she babbles.  The words leaving her lips no longer make sense to him, and he raises an eyebrow at her.  These are more words than she’s ever given him.  “I know you are like me somehow, all lost and broken, but you don’t have to do anything.  I can help you make a life, a good simple life with music and books and sunshine.  And food.  And brilliant magic.”

Eleanor has no idea where this is coming from.  She has no idea what she is asking him or why, but the compulsion she feels to help him somehow – and help the rest of the world in the process – can’t be ignored.

Loki laughs, but there is no humor in the sound.  Ellie refuses to let herself cry as she meets his mocking gaze.

“Oh, my sweet little songbird,” he says with a chuckle.  “It is not often I am so egregiously mistaken.  It seems I mistook your standard silence for intellectual depth, but you told me yourself.  You’re just a girl, a foolish girl with a lovely voice.  You know nothing, Eleanor Tate.  Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“You dare to—”

“I know you are confused,” she says, interrupting him.  The damage is done.  If he hurts her then that’s what she’ll get for her own stupidity, but first she’ll have her say.  “I know my voice makes you feel things you wish you didn’t but you can’t resist it anyway.  I know you are easily annoyed, and a control freak, but it’s hard to control anything when you don’t even know what you want.  And you, Loki, have no idea what you want.”

All humor gone now, Loki’s eyes narrow.  He looks so painfully dangerous.  “Enough,” he hisses.

“I’m right!  Before we fu—“ The look he gives her forces her to rethink her words.  He hates curses for whatever reason.  “Before we fornicated, you hated that.  I was giving you what you thought you wanted, a brainless, submissive subject.  I gave you total control of my body and my mind, but you asked permission before you touched me.  You got what you wanted and you hated it.”

“Get out.”

Loki gets up to loom over her   The play of shadow on his face makes him appear inhuman.  And he is.  Not of this world.

His quietly delivered order is more terrifying and more powerful than yelling.

“Out!” he yells.

Okay, maybe just as terrifying. 

She scrambles away from him, tripping in her haste.  It is more than she ever could have dreamed, getting out of this situation without being smacked around and she is desperate to keep it that way.

He could kill her.  God, how stupid is she to forget how little regard he has for human life?  And even death would be preferable to him taking everything.  He could erase her, with just a touch of his scepter and she was foolish enough to yell at him.

“Eleanor.”  Her fingers pause on the door handle as she quells her survival instinct.  Every nerve is screaming at her to take flight, but logically she knows ignoring him would only make it worse.

She jumps about a foot in the air when she realizes that he stands directly behind her.  Ellie bumps into his bare chest and recoils. 

“This corridor does not belong to you and I only.  Cover yourself.”

She takes the sheet he offers without looking at him and sprints to the relative safety of her room.

She goes straight to the shower, turns it as hot as it will go, and curls into a ball on the floor.  It is then she finally lets herself cry.

 


	7. Minions

According to her wristwatch, it is just after noon when she emerges from her bath.  The water runs cool, and it reminds her too much of his touch.  She stands in the bathroom for a long time, not knowing what to do but her feet get cold.  Socks and sweats are in order, but she’ll have to make due with the absurd selections in her wardrobe.

She moves, even with her limbs feeling so strange.

The bedroom is simple but functional.  There is something elegant about the soft cream carpet and golden bedding.  The whole space is made to feel bigger by the large mirror on the wall opposite her bed.

The mirror is her destination now.  Her insides feel raw and she wants to see if the outsides have been similarly altered.

Dropping the towel from her body, she stands in front of the mirror and analyzes her appearance.  Given everything she went through this morning, Ellie looks remarkably well rested. 

Her cheeks are flushed and her wet hair is tousled.  She gathers it up into a messy bun to get a good look at her neck.  On one side he’s left a hickey against her pulse point, near the corner of her jaw.  On the other is a bite mark just above her collarbone.  It’s as though he’s branded her, not that she ever sees anyone but him and occasionally the hunched lady.  Somehow Ellie doubts that he is attempting to mark his territory for the silent old woman.

Her gaze moves down her pale form.   Even her truly horrid sunburn has faded. It’s been so long since she’s been outside.  Still, next to the translucent god she looks down right sun kissed.

_Teeth rotting in his skull.  Skin flayed from his bone._

Ellie shivers violently before continuing her self-inspection.

The lack of pigment in her skin tone only makes the dark bruises on her hips more apparent.  It is nothing she hasn’t seen on her body before, but it feels different now.  This battering isn’t only physical, but emotional.  And she is not used to feeling anything at all in the aftermath.

Her blue eyes flicker back to her face now.  Nothing there is out of place, except the confusion and frustration and fear she sees in her own gaze.  It takes her five minutes, but she manages to pull on the mask.  Once more she cloaks herself in apathy.

It’s more comfortable this way.

* * *

 

Cool arms around her middle rouse her from restless sleep, and she mistakes the embrace for a dream.  It feels like her fantasy from yesterday morning, the one where she was blessedly normal.

But when he roughly pokes her in the back, grumbling his displeasure, she sees this for what it truly is.

“Loki?” she mutters, still disoriented.  He specifically told her that she wouldn’t have to do anything for him tonight, but when has he ever been one to keep his word?  “Why are you poking me?”

“Make room, Eleanor,” he replies in the dark with barely concealed irritation.  “You are taking up the entirety of the bed.”

He is angry with her for taking up too much room in her own bed which is obviously beyond ridiculous, but Ellie can’t summon the energy to argue with him.  A day and half a night spent alone and brooding and hating herself and trying to maintain her apathy has left her totally spent, both physically and mentally.

With a sleepy groan, she rolls over on her stomach and hugs the edge of the mattress with one arm.  She doesn’t open her eyes.  There would be no point.  She can’t see in the dark, but she wonders if night vision is another of his magic tricks.

Loki lets out a disgusted huff and she feels the mattress shift, indicating that he’s joined her.  This is just about the last place she wants to be at the moment, but instead of fighting she just closes her eyes and searches for sleep.

“Eleanor,” he whispers.

“Er?”  It’s more of a grunt than a word and all she has the energy for.

“Now you take up too little of the bed.”

He sounds like a petulant child and she flips him off under the pillow, where he can’t see her middle finger.  Not that he’d understand the gesture anyway.  She’ll have to start using it more often.

“Sleep, Loki,” she mumbles into her pillow.

For a few moments of blessed silence, Ellie hovers on the peripheral of sleep.  She feels herself slipping back into dreams again when he speaks.

“Eleanor,” he whispers.

She groans, totally beyond irritated and exhausted. 

“Shouldn’t you be taking over the world or something?” She attempts to sound snappish, but her tone just comes off as sleepy. 

“I have been very successful in that area on this night, but alas, it is a process.  No more can be done for now and I need rest,” he replies.

She grunts in response, even as dread pools in her belly.

“Eleanor,” he whispers.

She pretends to sleep.  There is exhaustion in his tone, too, and she hopes that soon he’ll give up and leave her be.

Except he doesn’t seem particularly good at leaving her be.

Fuck, she really is in no mood to give him a goddamn lullaby.

Loki shifts around next to her, disturbing both her blankets and her nerves.  Her own behavior yesterday leaves her feeling sick and she blames him.  Everything is his fault.  Playing house might have been a nice distraction for a moment there, but she’s done now.  She wants out.

Her eyes fly open in shock when that cool arm comes back around her middle, pulling her back firmly into his chest.  This is how they slept last night, spooned together, but now it’s his long body encompassing her smaller frame.  A large hand slips under her silky tank top and fingers fan out over her stomach, making her breath hitch.  Her moves aside her blond hair and pushes his nose into the back of her neck.

She has no idea what to make of him.  None at all.

And it doesn’t help that she is still practically asleep.  Aroused, asleep, and thoroughly confused.

Without really thinking about it, Ellie lets herself relax back into him.  Her palm covers the hand on her stomach and she laces his fingers through his.  Although somewhere in the depths of her mind she recognizes that mimicking his actions from last night is significant, she doesn’t care. 

She sleeps soundly, just as she did the night before as the big spoon.

* * *

 

When her eyes flicker open, Ellie is completely unsurprised to find herself alone in bed.  Still, she feels well rested for the first time in years.  She’s been so tired for so long, but last night she actually slept.  She stretches languidly, arms raised above her head.  It takes her a long moment to realize that the corners of her mouth are turned up into a smile. 

Captives don’t smile. 

She rearranges her features even as she revels in the lingering feeling of contentment of the morning.  Soon, dark thoughts will penetrate her mind.  She will think about Loki and the end of the world and her unwilling reaction to such a dangerous creature, but she’ll save it for later.

She’s got nothing but time these days, and she vows to keep her mind blissfully blank until after breakfast.

With lazy movements she grabs the green silk robe off the back of a chair and pulls it on as she moves into the hall and towards the kitchen.  Humming under her breath, she walks slowly, giving herself time to plan her meal.

French toast, she decides.  It’s been a long time since she craved any specific food and this particular meal was a favorite of her fake father, but she won’t think on that now either. 

The long brick corridor with its four familiar doors seems louder today, although just as deserted as always.  There is more activity than usual in the great industrial space beyond the locked doors.

A product of Loki’s success last night, no doubt.

Refusing to think on it, she continues her slow progress towards the kitchen, and when she pushes through the double doors at the far end of the hall, she nearly falls over with shock.

Two men occupy her kitchen.  They stand at the counter, staring at the coffee maker as if their single-minded focus could possibly be enough to make it brew faster.  Ellie lets out a little squeak as the door slams shut behind her, garnering the attention of the two strangers.

She had the faintest trace of hope that they were some how the good guys, here to take her away and stop Loki, but she deflates when she sees their glowing blue eyes.

_Great.  More minions._

But at least they are brainwashed innocents.  She keeps her own mind, yet she still willing surrendered to him a day ago.  Truly, she is a monster.

She stares at the pair as they silently watch her.  One is older and disheveled, with a slight beer belly, grey hair, and what was probably a kind face before Loki and his glowing power took up residence in his eyes.  The other is young, compact and muscled, and obviously dangerous.  He wears all black, like a ninja or something.

“Hello,” says the older one, jovially.  His greeting is accompanied with an awkward little wave and it makes Ellie smile. 

She nods back, but stays silent.  After being alone with a maniac for what feels like years, these strangers make her nervous.  They could be here to hurt her, although she doubts it.  Still, best to be cautious.

“I’m Erik and this is the Hawk,” he continues, gesturing to his companion.  “We’re new.”

This does not surprise Ellie as she’s seen no one but Loki and the hunched old women in their part of the bunker.

“Ellie,” she murmurs.

“Would you like some coffee?” he offers.  “Should be done any moment now.  After all this is done, I’ll find a way to brew it quicker using the Tesseract. Wouldn’t that be something?”

He has a good laugh at his own joke.  Apparently it was a joke.  Ellie raises an eyebrow as she watches him skeptically.

“Sounds damn trivial to me,” mutters the other one.  He holds himself like a solider, and does not find his companion amusing.

“Avert your eyes.”

The enraged hiss has her jumping and she bumps into his chest, as per the damn usual.  Although her heart is hammering away from fright, she turns to scowl at him.  Loki knows she absolutely loathes the way he silently sneaks up on her.

Stupid magic.

Loki’s blood-chilling stare is directed at his blue-eyed minions who, in turn, silently stare down at the floor across the room.

“I told you these corridors were not our own any longer, Eleanor,” he snaps, eyes never leaving the pair by the coffee maker.  With a hand digging into her shoulder, he moves to stand in front of her, still watching the silent men.  “You have disobeyed me.”

Somehow she refrains from rolling her eyes at him. 

“I’m covered,” she mutters.

Together, they look down, taking in the clothes on her small frame.  Her lacy black camisole is rather indecent, and in hindsight she probably should have bothered to tie closed her robe. 

A blush tinges her cheeks and Loki reaches out to trace his thumb over the color.  This just leads to more blushing.  Ellie looks away, and it makes him chuckle.

“I just wanted to make some French toast,” she mutters. 

Using a curled finger under her chin, Loki tilts her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze.  He looks slightly better today.  Although the dark bags are still present under his eyes, he doesn’t look so sickly and his color is a little better.  She wonders what is doing this to him. Most of the time he just looks strung out.

She thinks of his humming scepter.  Something so powerful has to be equally draining.

“Bread from the country of France?” he asks.  His puzzlement is endearing and she smiles.

“It’s a meal,” she corrects.  “I don’t know why it’s called that.”

She wraps the robe around her body, tying it tightly at her waist.  When the task is complete, she looks up at him, waiting for his approval.  He gives her a slight nod and follows her to the refrigerator.

“Am I making enough for your minions?” she asks, nodding to the men still staring determinedly at the floor.

“Do they need feeding?” he asks as if he genuinely doesn’t know.

She laughs and nods. 

“Fine.  You may feed them. Move,” he tells them.  “You are in Miss Tate’s way.  You may wait in the corner.”

“Sorry, Miss Tate,” says the older, disheveled one.

“Apologies, ma’am,” says the solider.

They move off like good little brainwashed minions, and Ellie shivers slightly, totally creeped out by their mindlessness.  One wrong move on her part and that could be her.  She’s lucky she managed to keep her identity yesterday, after the words she threw at him.  That is a mistake she won’t be making again, especially with the unsettling reminder waiting in the corner for her to make breakfast.

“They are necessary, I am afraid,” Loki murmurs as she whips eggs.  She sends him a confused look, silently encouraging him to continue.  “We now must wait on the science of the rumpled one.  In a few days time he should have the portal complete that will deliver my army.”

Her mouth pops open in shock and she shatters an egg in her hand.  Loki sighs, taking her wrist and leading her to the sink where he washes it off for her.

“Come now, Eleanor,” he says.  “Surely you aren’t surprised.  Alien forces dominating earth is not such an original theme, or so you tell me.”

She just continues to gape at him.  This announcement should not be so shocking, but there is a difference between hearing him babble away about setting this realm free from the oppression of freedom and hearing the details.

An army.

An _alien_ army.

Coming through a portal.

She doesn’t really believe it, can’t really believe it, probably won’t until she sees for herself.

And she really does not want to see for herself.

“No harm will come to you, my sweet songbird,” he assures her, misinterpreting her dismay.

She nods, but it’s not her safety that concerns her.

“Make your European bread,” he commands quietly.

“French toast,” she corrects still in a daze.

“It matters not.”

Ellie does as she’s told for lack of any other options.  She is a person and feels some duty to help save her home world from the unstable and violent rule of the unstable and violent God of Chaos, but she can’t think of a single way to resist.

Despite her own personal rebellions that involve annoying Loki with her make up or singing songs about resistance that totally escape his understanding, she is powerless here to do any real and lasting good.  She is woefully out matched physically and he is far too smart.  It seems he’s thought of everything.

The knives in the kitchen only appear when he is present to supervise her cooking, for example.

She can’t escape and save herself, let alone save the whole world.  She is just one woman, one very small woman who has a hard time caring about anything at all.

His mood swings make it worse. 

Although he was furious enough to kill her yesterday morning, now he seems almost sweet, if such a word could possibly be applied to him.  He is attentive and gentle and possessive and unsure.  As she cooks breakfast for him and his new minions, Loki’s watches her intently, as if observation will hold the key to how he’s supposed to treat her.

He said it himself after her kidnapping.  Now that he has her, he has no idea what to do with her.

The reasoning behind his decision to climb into her bed last night, to touch her without processing her, even after such a terrible fight, truly baffles her.  He confuses her endlessly.

She is thoroughly traumatized by the whole situation, and he is the only steady thing in her life at the moment.  He is scary, but not always scary and she is so guilty for the strange sort of kinship she feels for her captor.

_Stockholm Syndrome._

The words pop into her head as she hands him a plate.  They soothe her.  Now she has something to blame for her obviously ill-advised and misplaced feelings.  The words absolve her sins.

Unfortunately, the words are complete shit.

“You’re not going to invite them to sit?” she asks when everyone has their food.

“No,” Loki says, eyes on his plate.

“It’s kinda difficult to eat French toast standing up,” she murmurs.

“Sit down, Eleanor,” he says.

She does as she’s told, sliding onto the stool next to him.  It is not her usual seat, but she would feel too uncomfortable on the stool across from him with the men loitering behind her.

“Eat,” Loki says.  “You are far too frail.”

She rolls her eyes and continues watching the minions.

“Loki, this is awkward,” she tries again.  “Let them sit.”

“You are insufferable, you know,” he snaps at her.  She pouts at him for another moment before he gives in.  “Dr. Selvig.  Agent Barton.  You may sit.  Do not look at my lady.”

She jumps a little, surprised by the way he just referred to her.  The possessiveness is totally expected, but the term has connotations of affection associated with it.  She dismisses this possibility quickly, deciding that it must have a different meaning on his home world, whatever it’s called.

Asgard.  That’s it.

She’s still not convinced he isn’t making that bit up.

“Eat,” Loki demands.  She takes a bite and then pushes her food around her plate, mind trying to puzzle out the man next to her.

“Tell me, Agent Barton.  Is Miss Tate a healthy size for an average Midgardian female of her height,” Loki asks conversationally.  Ellie glares at him, really not in the mood for a lecture on her health, of all things.

“No, sir.  She looks slightly malnourished to me,” replies this Hawk as he shoves food into his mouth.  He doesn’t even glance at her, so he must be making this assessment from memory.

“I’m a captive.  It’s stressful being a captive.  Humans lose weight when they are stressed,” she points out.

“Oh, Eleanor.  Your flawed logic is adorable,” he says with a chuckle that just comes off as mocking and mean.  “Firstly, you have gained several pound during your stay with me.  Secondly, you are hardly a captive.  You belong to me. The difference is significant.  And finally, I still do not truly believe you to be simply human.”

She glares at him and stuffs her mouth full of syrupy goodness, chewing dramatically.  He gives her a satisfied smirk.

“What’s a tesseract?” she asks. 

The smirk immediately falls off his face and she does a little victory dance.

“Selvig!” Loki snaps, continuing to glare at Ellie.  “And you as well, Agent Barton.  Neither of you are to speak to Miss Tate.  Do not look at her.  Do not talk to her.”

Ellis deflates with disappointment.  She was looking forward to talking to someone besides Loki.  His crazy is rubbing off on her, if the Stockholm Syndrome is any indication.

“Come,” he says, standing and beckoning for his minions.  They follow him to the door.  “You may clean this space, Eleanor.”

And then the trio is gone, back to the workroom beyond the locked door, no doubt.  Scowling at the spaces where Loki once stood, she gives a mocking bow.

She pokes morosely at her soggy bread for another moment before doing the dishes.  The prospect of spending another day alone just got that much worse.

* * *

 

“I have come to a realization,” he says as he bursts into her room later that night.  She glances up from her book to watch him pace around the foot of her bed, and pushes her reading glass up onto the top of her head to study him better.  He looks sick again and he didn’t even bother to change out of his strange leather and metal attire.  Usually when she sees him, he’s naked or in some sort of silky tunic looking thing.

“Is it about my disgusting mortal flesh?” she ventures.

He pauses for a moment to send her a now familiar scowl.  She grins back just to annoy him, an expression that just makes him scowl more.  There is something so damn adorable about a mildly irritated Loki, the only problem being it is a fine line between that and homicidally outraged.

“I favor your preference for silence, Eleanor,” he reminds her.  She smiles innocently and nods for him to continue.  “An obstreperous songbird is unattractive.  But, yes.  I have come to a realization in regards to your disgusting mortal flesh.”

Ellie blinks in surprise.  It is not often he so quickly agrees with her.

He resumes his pacing.  The low light from the small lamp on her bedside table throws shadows on the hallows of his cheeks and makes it impossible to see his eyes.  The creepiness of his looming figure has a shiver going up her spine.

A strange compulsion to ask if he is okay tickles her tongue, but she bites the side of her cheek to keep silent.

She hates it when he says “mortal flesh.”

“I have found there are aspects to my plan that tax me physically in unexpected ways,” he says, talking quickly.  It is almost as if he is nervous, but that is far out of the realm of possibility.

 Like, way the hell out there. 

“The blue glowy stick thing drains you, huh?” she guesses, going with her gut.

“How do you know this?” he demands, raising his voice.

It should be terrifying, but she just shrugs because yelling Loki is far less threatening then quiet, menacing Loki.  He tends to get suspicious about her origins and her intentions with him when she says anything remotely insightful.  The whole are-you-secretly-spying-on-me freak out stopped scaring her weeks ago.

“Eleanor!” he yells when she doesn’t respond.  He’s starting to get a little hysterical and as much as Ellie enjoys this, she isn’t a total moron.

“It’s called observation, Loki.  I have eyes.”

He sighs, dropping her gaze and studying the embroidery on her comforter.

“I find your touch… somewhat regenerative,” he confesses.

“You find my disgusting mortal flesh makes you feel better after you come down from the glorious high of using the stick of doom to take over the world,” she summarizes.

Her words make him blink a lot.

“Well, yes.  Indeed, that is what I am saying,” he replies quietly.  

“Why?” she murmurs.

There is a long pause, and the silence causes Ellie far more stress than it should.  Her body is tensed in anticipation, of what she couldn’t say.

“I know not.  I find myself in this uncomfortably ignorant state often when it concerns you,” Loki whispers.  In this moment he looks so young and lost.  It’s haunting and terrifying all at once.

“Why are you telling me this?” There is a plea in her voice, but she doesn’t know what she wants from him.  It seems she is often in an uncomfortably ignorant state when it concerns him too.

“I know not.”

It is a sort of crossroads moment.  In a strange, backhanded way, he is offering her a means to help humanity.  She spent a good portion of the day unsuccessfully concocting ways to protect the world from the rule of Loki, and here is the opportunity.  Although her resistance wouldn’t do much good under normal circumstances, he is standing before her, vulnerable and weakened.  She could keep him that way, or at least try, assuming that his words aren’t an elaborate ruse to manipulate her in some unknown way.

She sees truth in his eyes, and she feels her feeble plan to resist wane.  He just looks so tortured.  It’s a look that has stared back at her from the mirror every day for the last eight years.

_There’s that goddamn kinship again._

“Come here,” she whispers. 

He bristles immediately.  “You do not give me orders, mortal,” he hisses, attempting to get back some of the fear. 

She huffs in irritation but spares him the eye roll.  There is no arguing with Loki, no telling him what to do, so she stays silent as she plops her book and glasses on the bedside table, rolls on her side, and turns off the light.

Although she wants to close her eyes and sleep as if she cares little where he finds himself tonight, she stares into the dark, body tensed in anticipation. 

_Lie down.  Just lie down you stupid, stubborn god._

It takes him a full five minutes, but eventually Ellie feels the mattress give as he crawls towards her.  Now that he’s made the decision to stay, she closes her eyes, fully expecting him to spoon her.  It has become something of their position over these last few days.

The blanket is pulled aside and a hand on her bruised hip compels her to turn to lie on her back.  At his urging she sits up slightly, raising her arms above her head and allowing him to pull off her flimsy little nightgown. It leaves her completely naked, and she’s forced to admit to herself that she dressed for him tonight, hoping something like this would happen, even if she shouldn’t. 

Even if it is wrong.

She’s always favored pleasure over self preservation.  The thought is depressing but Loki is right here and it’s so good.

He touches her with long, knowing fingers, and she sighs.  Her hands find their way into his hair.  This seems to be the only place he actually likes to be touched, and she doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the night by doing the wrong thing.

She opens her legs as to better accommodate his hips, and her feet rest on the backs of his naked calves when he lies fully on her body.  He’s as naked as she is, undoubtedly a result of his magic.

The feeling of his tongue swirling around her nipple before pulling it into his mouth is truly divine, and she tugs more insistently on his hair.  She can hear only his breathing, accompanied by her own.  It is interrupted by the occasional wet sound, either from his mouth or fingers.

There is a quiet sort of intensity in him tonight, and their sex sounds match the mood of the moment.

The combination of fingers and mouth proves her undoing, and she pushes her lips into his temple to muffle her cries.  Totally absorbed by her orgasm, she attempts to bring him closer and her hands come around his back. 

She’s too delirious to notice the raised skin of his scars, but Loki immediately stills, trapping her wrists together in one large hand.  Ellie whimpers.  She just wants him to keep touching her.

“I won’t touch,” she whispers, only able to make out the faint outline of him in the darkness of her room.  No kissing.  No touching his back.  She’s got it.

Loki chuckles.  “Your word is difficult to keep in the throws of pleasure, my sweet songbird.”

She lets out an irritated huff as he raises her hands above her head, making her hold on to the looping vines of the iron headboard.

“Do not let go.  Not until I instruct you otherwise,” he whispers and he is inside her once more. 

She gasps.

He sighs.

And when he moves with long, slow strokes, Ellie wonders how she’ll ever live without this.  Soon she’ll have to learn, because the moment she has the opportunity to pick a side, it won’t be his.

She digs her heels into the cheeks of his cute little ass, and he lets out a sound that’s half chuckle, half groan.  It makes Ellie smile, and she forgets all about choosing sides.

All the other mortal men she’s taken to bed seem like nothing in compassion to the magic he works in her body, but still she doesn’t let go of the headboard.  He might stop if she lets go, and that might be the end of her, if he stops.

He is leisurely, and takes the opportunity offered by her occupied hands to explore every inch of her.  He teases her, tortures her, gets her so mindless that she’s angry and begging for release after very little time at all. 

Her knuckles turn white from her grip on the iron vines, and she says his name, the syllables punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. 

He finishes a moment later, but says nothing intelligible.

She hugs him with her thighs, relishing the feeling of him still inside her, and he collapses on her chest. 

Unthinkingly, she attempts to let go and stroke his hair.  Her hands do not move and she pulls more insistently.  The tugging deteriorates into a wrestling match with the headboard, and Loki chuckles, his breath warm against her right breast.

“You broke your promise, Eleanor,” he says, voice laced with a lazy sort of glee.  He enjoys her struggles, the smug son of a bitch.  “Naughty, naughty.  I told you not to let go.”

She scowls in the general direction of his face and struggles a bit more.  It’s as if her palms and the iron have become one.

He relaxes, head pillowed against her breast.  She waits a moment for him to release her but quickly loses patience.

“Loki,” she says, attempting to stay calm.

“Yes, Eleanor?”

“Can you see me in the dark?”

There is a beat of silence as her question catches him off guard.

“Yes, reasonably well.”

“So you can see me scowling at you.”

He chuckles.  “Yes.”

“Because you need to be able to see in the dark to take in my scowl.”

“Yes.”

“Loki!” she whines when her scowling gets her nowhere. 

“Ask nicely,” he suggests.

“Please, oh God of Mischief.  Please let me go.”  She really hams it up, and for once he notices her sarcasm.

“On further thought I have changed my mind,” he murmurs, settling against her.  “I quite like you like this.  Now if only I had a gag.”

She huffs.

“Ah, yes.  You prefer silence.  How could I forget?”

She huffs again.

“Goodnight, Eleanor,” he mumbles.  Something about the movement of his lips against her skin feels tender, almost like a kiss.

She indulges him, lets him have his mischief, but after five minutes her wrists go numb and nature calls.

“Loki,” she says.  He grunts as if he is already asleep.  “Loki!” she snaps, kicking him repetitively in the side.

“What?” he demands, head popping up from its position on her chest.  “You dare rouse me from slumber?”

She rolls her eyes before she remembers he can see in the dark.  “I have to pee!” she squeaks before he can start yelling at her about her insolence.

“You jest.”

She gives him a pointed look, daring him to let her prove the truth in her words, and he sighs heavily.  He rolls off her and her hands are freed in the same moment.  She prances off to the bathroom before he can change his mind.

When she emerges a few minutes later, he is asleep on his side.  She smiles and crawls in next to him, assuming the position.

* * *

 

Ellie is reading in her bedroom when she hears the door to the laboratory open.  Although most days she is able to entertain herself, she hasn’t been able to focus on music since he told her that it’s began so this interruption to the monotony of her day is welcome.

She hears voices. Curiosity has Ellie getting out of bed and opening her door slightly.

“And I’m not my best with a gun.”  Although he’s only spoken a few sentences in her presence, Ellie recognizes the steady tones of the one called Hawk.

She peaks out of the door and down the hall in time to see Loki turn to face the minion.  “I want to know everything you can tell me about this team of his,” says the God of Lies, clothed today in his long green and black leather trench with the odd layers of metal.  “ I would test their mettle.”

Ellie guesses he’s talking about the good guys, the heroes.  The ones that will stop Loki’s insane plan for world domination.  She prays they understand what they’re up against.

Some part of Ellie that is obviously as insane as her captor fears for his safety.  She wants him to stay right here with her, where she can cook him dinner.

Fuck, what is wrong with her?

Continuing to peak around the corner of the alcove, she watches Loki pace in the shadows as he talks to a passive Hawk.

“I am weary of scuttling in shadow,” he says, the frustration clear in his voice. His whole frame seems to quiver with agitation. He takes a breath and pauses to stare at the ceiling.  “I mean to rule this world.  Not burrow in it.”

 She’s heard this before, but the conviction in his tone still sends a shiver up her spine.

“It’s a risk,” says Hawk.

“Oh, yes,” replies Loki, absolutely radiating with a strange sort of manic excitement.  Even fifteen feet away, Ellie can feel his energy, his need to go off on what seems like a whim to test the heroes of Earth. “Germany, you say?”

“That’s where the iridium is, sir.”

“All right, then.”

Loki flicks his hand at Hawk. With this clear dismissal, both men turn to go their separate ways, Hawk back through the doors that remain locked to Ellie and Loki towards his chambers.  He catches sight of her little face peaking out of her door and immediately changes course.

“Hear anything interesting, my curious little songbird?” he asks, pushing her door open fully as he looks her up and down.  Something about his gaze makes her feel self conscious, even though she’s in her favorite too long full length dress with the swirling gold pattern on a green background. 

She points her chin to her chest and looks up at him from underneath thick eyelashes before shaking her head.

“Do not lie,” he says quietly.  Since she saw him enter their corridor, he’s gone from frustrated to giddy and now he appears contemplative, but slightly sad.

She nods, admitting to the eavesdropping.  She studies her bare feet and tries to reign in her emotions. 

Everything is going to be different now, and it terrifies her as much as it saddens her.  Ellie doesn’t belong anywhere and the fragility that comes with that knowledge made her comfortable here with him, but now she’ll lose this little bit of familiarity too.

“Why do you frown?” he whispers, tilting her face to his with a finger under her chin.

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to approve of your plan for world domination,” she replies, feeling brave.

“You know nothing of my plans,” he replies, irritated now.  His hand on her chin tightens, but he drops it when she winces.  “And I have no need for the approval of the supposed mortal.”

“Don’t do it,” Ellie says.  “Whatever it even is, don’t do it.”

He lets out an aggravated huff and starts pacing around in the hall just outside her room.  “Do not commence with this trifling lunacy once more,” he snaps.  “If you dare ask this of me again you will regret it.”

Rarely do his threats come to fruition when it comes to Ellie.  She gets the feeling she is the exception, and that out there, beyond the corridor, he carries out his punishments swiftly and brutally.  Still, she is fearful enough of his rapid mood changes to not push him.

“Soon you will be free of this bunker,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek.  The unexpectedly tender gesture makes her shiver.  “You will remerge into a glorious new world under my rule, at the side of the king.”

She gives him a sarcastic smile, but he doesn’t get it.

“I require sustenance,” he says, rapidly switching gears.  “Have you prepared anything?”

Ellie lets out a hysterical giggle before throwing a hand over her mouth.  The stress of the situation is making her a little crazy, and in this moment he just sounds so much like a nice little husband from the fifties, home from work, and ready for the meal prepared by his doting stay at home wife.  Domestic is not something she’d ever associate with Loki, but here he is, asking her about dinner.

“What amuses you?” he asks, annoyed.  “I do not understand.”

She shakes her head and takes his hand, leading him down the hall to the kitchen.  “Leftovers?” she suggests.

He makes a little sound of disgust, and then shocks her by tugging on her hand, making her stumble into his hard chest.  When he spins her to face him she squeaks, and before she can regain her footing, Loki lifts her off the ground, pushing her back into the dusty brick wall.

“My hunger has evolved, it seems,” he says, teeth dragging down the length of neck.  Immediately her breathing picks up and her hands weave through his thick black hair.  It needs to be washed, and probably cut too, but she can’t find it in her to care when he’s crowding each and every one of her senses like this.

The wrongness of fucking him is something she decides to put out of her head.  She’ll worry about that later, after he drags her out of the corridor and into the whole new world of his.  These are sins she’ll have to atone for, and soon, but for now, down here, she’ll touch him because she wants to.  She’ll sing to him and cook him dinner, because she wants to do these things too.

But she’ll hold on to her heart and the other things that matter.  He can have her body and her voice and her food, but she won’t give him anything that matters, even if he fails and especially if he wins.

“I thought the corridor was no longer our own,” she says.  It is an attempt to tease him, but the words come out breathless because his hands are everywhere.

“Let them hear what I do to your body,” he says, biting the juncture of her throat and shoulder.  It makes her jump.  “Let them hear you scream my name in ecstasy. Your cries of pleasure will server to further prove that you are mine.”

Some faint notion tells her to dispute this claim, but she loses herself to sensation.

The bricks scrap against the sensitized skin of her back as insistent hands rake down her sides.  His touch is bruising and demanding.  She revels in it, wanting more.  Frustrated by the constricting fabric of her dress, she wishes he’d just magic the thing right off her body. But he just pushes it up her waist instead. 

The corridor is no longer theirs alone, after all.

It’s addicting and twisted, but she doubts she’ll ever get enough of this with him. 

As he moves within her, his breathing harsh, Ellie gives him a lazy smirk.  He may be a god, but he sure can’t seem to get enough of her disgusting mortal flesh.  He blinks at her as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of her.  This just makes her smirk more. But the she gets distracted by her own pleasure, letting her eyes close and her head fall forward to rest against his forehead.

When it’s over her perpetually bare feet once more find their way to the concrete floor. 

“Why won’t you kiss me?” she whispers against his chest.  Her body is boneless and the only thing that keeps her upright is the arm wrapped around the small of her back.  He leans heavily against her, pushing her once more into the brick. 

“Why would I?” he demands, obviously horrified by the suggestion.  He opens his eyes.  Right now they are bright, but narrowed in anger. 

Ellie just shrugs, regretting she said anything at all.

“Surely you do not desire my mouth meeting yours,” he says with a mean and mocking chuckle.  It actually makes Ellie blush, something quiet rare.  She studies her feet. “What kind of lost creature such as yourself would want to touch the lips of a monster?”

Her head snaps up, eyes going wide at his statement.  He looks equally stunned, and for a long moment they just stare at each other.

The mercurial God of Lies is as arrogant as he is powerful.  He is his own biggest fan, and talks of his plans for world domination as if it is the guaranteed outcome simply because of his own greatness.  Loki is confidant and “burdened with glorious purpose,” the great deliverer of humanity from the lies of freedom. 

He firmly believes his own superiority, yet in this moment he stands before her, a self-proclaimed monster.

How can he see himself as all this at once?

Before this moment, Ellie assumed it was the opposite.  With all his talk of disgusting mortal flesh, she thought he couldn’t stand to share something that intimate with a lesser being.

There is nothing she can do but watch him contend with the raging motion within.  Muttering under his breath, he seems to have an argument with himself, something she’s seen him do from time to time.  He closes his eyes and tugs at his hair for a moment before stilling to loom over her, glaring.  The confusion is back in his blue eyes, but there is nothing for Ellie to say.

Despite her misplaced instinct to ease his pain, he is a monster.  Without knowing anything about his story she can tell it is more complicated than this, but his actions are monstrous.  He is a kidnapper with a heart of stone, a megalomaniac in possession of great and dangerous power.  

But he likes to hear her sing, and as wrong as it may be, life here with him has been better than the existing she was doing out there on her own for the last eight years.

“I did not mean that,” he snaps, as if this is somehow her fault.  “It is you who is not worthy of my kiss.”

Her eyes narrow slightly but otherwise she stays still, trapped against the wall by the cage of his arms.

“Do not speak of this, Eleanor,” he demands, covering her mouth with his palm, grip tightening on her jaw.  Nose to nose now, his gaze bores into her.  “I will not tolerate it.”

She gives him a dubious look, one he correctly interprets.

“Your preference for silence will serve you well,” he says.

She jerks out of his grip, and stalks towards the kitchen, bare feet on the cold concrete floor.  A thin strap of her dress falls down her shoulder, and she pulls it back into place with more force than necessary.

The emotions he brings out in her are so unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  For the last eight years she has lived in a state of carefully crafted apathy.  If there is no joy, there is no hurt, and she’s had enough hurt for a lifetime.

Now, he angers her as often as he makes her smile.  He stirs something in her long ago forgotten heart, and in this moment she resents him for it, for making her want more.

“Leftovers,” she says over her shoulder when he follows her into the kitchen.

 


	8. Something That Matters

**Chapter 8: Something That Matters**

They are mourning.  His father and his mother and his brother – except no, they are not _his_ , not really – stand on the end of the ruined Bifrost.  All three cry.  They are _mourning_.  They truly mourn and then they are gone, the vision shifting.

She is cloaked in shadow, naked.  A faceless man puts a white pill on her tongue and dark bags reside under dull blue eyes.  Her hair is brown.  The faceless man moves over her, but Eleanor does not smile.  She closes her eyes and arches her back, but Eleanor does not smile.

“No, Loki,” whispers his father.  It is not truly his father but rather a thief and a liar, and Loki wants more than anything to be worthy of this king, to be _his,_ but hope is lost with two words.  He failed.  Thor is yelling, his face contorted in horror and grief, and Loki let’s go.   _He lets go._  He falls.   He is swept away into nothingness.

Eleanor is laid out on a bed, draped in Asgardian cotton.  She is sweating, panting, her hair sticking to her forehead.  Loki is panicking, hands fluttering uselessly around her body but she smiles.  She is radiant.  “Come here,” she says.  He does.  Her hands shake as she touches his face and her kiss is sloppy.  “Look what we made.” She beams.  “Look what we made.”

She stands atop marble steps, biting the inside of her cheek.  Her eyes are wide.  She is concerned.  A gold and emerald crown circles her head and her bright hair is unnaturally tame.  She is not pleased.  She is overwhelmed, but when she looks at Loki, she smiles.  _When she looks at Loki she smiles._ Eleanor smiles and Loki smiles back.

Thor is dead.  His blue eyes stare at nothing as blood pours from his slit throat.  The awkward angle of his neck makes Loki heave.

The woman has Eleanor’s face, but the features are slightly wrong, mutated.  Her nose is longer, her lips thinner and her hair is dark.  She sleeps restlessly, shifting on her back in an attempt to get comfortable under the weight of her hugely pregnant belly.  An Asgardian crouches over her, whispering in her ear, smoothing back her dark hair and gently caressing her stomach.  He is Bragi, God of Song, and he weaves powerful spells of protection.  When the woman wakes, Bragi is gone.

A monstrous green giant rips apart steel.  The red woman cowers, her last thoughts on her lost Hawk and Eleanor is screaming.  _Screaming._

“I love you,” says Eleanor.  And he believes her.  _He believes her._ The truth is written in her gaze and as often as she tells him, he will never quite be used to hearing those words spoken in the melodious tones of his wife.  And he loves her as well.  He says it back with much less frequency but that makes it no less true.  He loves her.  _Loves her._ “Fuck, do I love you,” she says and oh, does he love her back despite her foul mouth.

She hugs him, calls him son.  She is not his mother.  She lied.  But he hugs her back all the same and feels all right for the first time in a long time.

The child sits at the piano next to her mother.  Chubby fingers bang away at ivory and the sound should annoy Loki but it doesn’t.  Her enthusiasm makes him smile, makes him feel warm.  Her hair is blue, her skin is pale, and she has Eleanor’s eyes. _Her hair is blue._   A wild blue mane sprouting from the perfect globe of her head.  When she looks at him she smiles and Loki understands that her existence makes everything different.  Everything.

Eleanor has run out of screams.  The Titan of Death stole even her voice with his blades and fire and _words_.  Most painful are the lies whispered in her ear, the images planted in her head.  Eleanor is unmade and remade in _his_ image.  Loki knows.  Loki was there and now her pain is his pain and he can do nothing, nothing, _nothing_ to free her, to spare her this, even if it means the end, even if it is granting her the blessed relief of death.  “End this!” Loki pleads.  “Anything, I will give you anything!”  He’s said this before, offered himself in exchange for Eleanor a thousand times over, but he got nothing back but cruel laughter.   “Anything,” says the titan now.  “Yes I will have your anything, and more.”

* * *

 

Loki is in a room with crumbling stonewalls and concrete floors.  Great hanging sheets of plastic divide the large space.  Men work under floodlights directly opposite him, but he is left alone, sitting on a step.  The darkness of the corner makes the Tesseract’s glow appear that much brighter.

It sits at his feet, humming, brilliant, _knowing,_ and Loki doesn’t recall dropping it. 

He tries to scream, but there is panic in his chest and it will not escape.  Screaming would be a release, but he cannot manage it.  He glances around wildly, scrambling to understand how he came to be in this dark corner of this decrepit space.

The Void was so vivid, only a moment ago, and he was not alone with the Titan or the Other.  Eleanor was there.  Is there still?  Did he leave her there?

The thought makes him retch, but he looks at the Tesseract at his feet and he understands.

He was shown happenings in the past and possibilities for the future.  Images swirl in his mind and he cannot determine what has happened from what might happen.  Squeezing his eyes closed, he blocks it out.  All of it.

Or so he tries.  Eleanor, tortured beyond reason, unmade, remade, corrupted into something monstrous, something like him – that he cannot forget. 

Even when he opens his eyes again and stares at the Tesseract at his feet, Loki is unable to unsee Eleanor in the Void.  He is unable to unfeel the panic, the desperation to save her, for in that moment she was everything.

The vision renews his drive, his need to be successful in his plans because failure is too horrible to contemplate.  Because failure could very well land them both in the Void.

_You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain._

Loki believes the Other’s words.  He well and truly understands all that is at stake now.  The one way to guarantee Eleanor’s safety and his own is to win, to become the king he deserves to be, to be the ruler the Titan crafted.

He picks up the Tesseract, shuddering slightly. The power tickles his veins, but it is a struggle to keep himself from fleeing to their corridor, to see for himself that she is here, that she is safe.

He is not the creature of the visions, so pathetically wrapped up in a half mortal woman, but his compulsion to have her near and safe is undeniable.  He will spare her that future.  This is one possibility that will not come to fruition.

Breathing is slightly less difficult and he steadies himself, cloaking himself in the persona of king, of ruler.  There is still work to be done on this night.  The Tesseract has others with whom to speak.

He delivers the cube to Agent Barton and gives orders for the remainder of the night.  Only when he is assured that everything is in place does he allow himself to retire.

* * *

She is not in his rooms and the disappointment he feels upon seeing his empty bed is inexplicable, but he should not be surprised, given the way he frightened her the previous night.  He quickly turns to her rooms.

He stills when he sees Eleanor lying in her own bed, sleeping soundly, and the tension slowly drains from his shoulders.  Breathing becomes possible once more and although he thought he’d sufficiently calmed down as he gave orders, he sees now that he continued to panic until the moment he looked upon Eleanor, safe and sleeping.

She sleeps on her back, face tilted in his direction, and Eleanor is beautiful.  He failed to think on it before, but he sees her as she is now.  Beautiful and broken and his. 

Looking at her makes it difficult to push away all the Tesseract showed him and he desperately wonders what has already occurred and what is possibility only.

He wonders what was lost, a thousand futures stolen by a thousand seemingly inconsequential decisions. 

Could she truly love him?  Or was that possibility lost when Bragi, God of Song, choose to leave her here on this useless realm.  Was that a future only open to them if her father brought her to Asgard after her birth?

He knows her past now, knows her father, knows that she is no simple Midgardian.  The satisfaction of being right in regards to her parentage is drowned out by a storm of possibilities.

Will she wear a crown?  Will she smile at him in that way?

Will the Titan of Death turn her into a monster?

He kneels on the edge of her bed, pushing her hair back and studiously lying to himself, pretending that he was not shown what he was shown, but when he wraps an arm around her middle he cannot forget the way she smiled for him, the way she did not smile for the faceless man.

Eleanor stirs and Loki panics, startled to be caught in such a tender moment.  He is on his feet, looming over her and trying to find the will to leave her be.  She loathes him, hates him, and he will not be bogged down by a desire to see her smile in that fashion.  Wanting what he cannot have is a useless, painful endeavor, and he will focus on the attainable possibilities.

He will keep Eleanor out of the Void.  He will have that crown on her head, and a future of her loving him may have been lost with a single decision from her wayward father, but someday she will smile.

Frowning, he attempts to determine a way to crawl into bed without disturbing her.  She’s left no room for him and her lack of consideration makes him angry.  He prods her.

“Loki?” she mutters.  Her voice makes him jump, but she doesn’t notice in the dark. “Why are you poking me in the back?” 

“Make room, Eleanor.”  His voice is harsh, irritated.  “You take up the entirety of the bed.”

He realizes in this moment that he cannot leave her alone, not with the image of her voiceless and blooded in the Void so fresh in his head. 

Yesterday her sleepy groan might have offended him, but on this night he smiles.  She rolls over, away from him, making room.  Far too much room, but Loki does not hesitate to join her.

He tries to get comfortable, but she is far too far away.

“Eleanor,” he whispers.

“Er?”

“Now you take up too little of the bed.”

“Sleep, Loki.”

He wants something from her, needs something from her, although what, he cannot say.  He murmurs her name twice more, but she is asleep.  It seems a good sign, that even after everything she can fall asleep with such ease in his presence.

He touches her because he wants too and for once does as she says.

* * *

 

She wants to cook Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton breakfast, so he humors her.  They see her in next to nothing, and it reminds him of what the Tesseract showed him, of all the faceless men before. 

Rage boils in his veins, but he does not tear apart his so called “minions” with his hands.  It would happen slowly, painfully.  He wants to.  He is dizzy with the need to hurt any who have touched her, seen her, but he is able to hold onto his priorities. 

Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton are necessary for victory and victory is necessary to keep Eleanor out of the Void.  The Tesseract spoke to these two.  It showed them ancient knowledge and profound truth.

All Loki got was Eleanor and endless questions, endless possibilities.  He resents his “minions” for seeing what he did not.  They are blessed with peace while Loki is plagued with confusion, with doubt, with _Eleanor_ and he hates them for it.

But they are necessary.

So they eat breakfast. 

There is work to be done.

* * *

 

She does not try to kiss him as he takes her in the corridor and it pleases him to see her learning her lesson so effectively after he trapped her hands against the headboard the night before. 

But she does ask him about it.

The question surprises him and his sliver tongue fails at this most inconvenient of moments.  He reveals too much, calls himself monster and Eleanor notices.  Eleanor notices much too much for his liking.

She makes him eat food old food, prepared the night before, but walks straight to his room with no hesitation after their shared meal, pulling her dress over her head and offering to kneel.

* * *

 

“Eleanor,” he says, exasperated.  “You tease me.”

Absently she waves a hand in his general direction.  Dude really needs to work on his patience. There are a lot of instruments here, and she needs a moment to make her selection.

“Eleanor!”

Hand hovering over the banjo, she lets out an irritated huff before finally settling on the acoustic guitar.  He much prefers the acoustic guitar.

She sways back over to the bed, definitely teasing him with her naked body.  He scowls at her when she sits on the corner of the mattress, out of his reach.

She crosses her legs and pulls the guitar into her lap.  The instrument covers up the majority of her torso, something Loki grumbles about.

“Don’t you want me to sing?” Ellie asks, giving him a lazy smile.

Loki’s blue eyes narrow.  “Sing quickly,” he demands.

This is one request she would never dream of denying him, so she closes her eyes, plucks out a few cords, and opens her mouth. 

Tonight she gives Loki, the reckless god who spent the last three hours making her come so many times she’s lost count, an old time song.  She learned _Train on the Island_ on countless porches from grizzled old timers, the porch pickers of the mountains of North Carolina.  They were once her people.

The song is bittersweet and makes her miss feeling like somewhere was home.

She sways to the music and croons her little heart out.  When she opens her eyes again, Loki is out like a light, curled up on his side.  The peaceful expression on his face makes him look young and she smiles.

Her voice can knock out a god.  It’s not a bad feeling.

As she returns the instrument to its place, lined up on the back wall between the banjo and the mandolin, she briefly considers returning to her room to get a few hours sleep.  It’s got to be close to dawn, but time really doesn’t mean much underground. 

She glances back at Loki, curled up on his side.  Flicking off the light, she crawls back into bed next to him. She wraps her little body about his much longer naked frame, pushes her nose into his back, and spreads his fingers out over the rippled muscles of his abdominals.

* * *

 

The large green bed is empty save for Ellie when she wakes and this is becoming a routine. 

She shifts over, pressing her cheek into the rumpled sheets where he slept.  The spot is cool, but so is his temperature and it really gives her no clue as to how long she’s been alone. 

There are no windows here underground and her only means to tell the time is the watch she had on the night he brought her here.  It sits on her dresser, and she is feeling far too lazy to go retrieve it.

That would require clothing herself, and she’s just not quite ready for that yet.

No light penetrates the room, save for the small crack under the door to the hallway, and Ellie rolls on her back to stare up into the dark.  The lack of light fits her current mood.

Germany.  It has started and he is going to Germany.  The thought of him leaving brings her much more sadness than it should but mostly she is terrified of the next part.

She mopes around in bed before her frustration boils over.  She hates this situation.  Hates him for bringing her here, hates herself for her lack of control over her own emotions. 

Mostly she hates the fact that here with him, she isn’t so lonely.  Before, she didn’t even notice but the thought of going back now is terrifying.

Needing a distraction, she hauls herself out of bed, pulls on her robe, and moves to the kitchen.  She’s not particularly hungry, but cooking is the only activity she can think of cam her frantic thoughts.

As fucking usual.

Waking up alone and cooking a breakfast she doesn’t want.  Even this routine is preferable to all the changes about to happen.

* * *

 

“I am departing in a matter of hours.”  Loki finds her rummaging around in the magically stocked fridge, mulling over what exactly to cook. 

She turns quickly, startled as she usually is to see him standing directly behind her.  For once she manages to not let out a ridiculous squeak and not fall over. It feels like progress.

“Where are you going?” she asks, even though she knows.

“Stuttgart, Germany.”

She fixes him with a blank stare and raises one eyebrow. 

“Are you familiar with Stuttgart, Germany?” he inquires.

She shakes her head.

“So you have not been to Stuttgart, Germany?”

Another head shake.  She’s never been anywhere.

She wants to ask why, but even if he would tell her she wouldn’t like the answer so she refrains.  The end is near.  He is leaving in a matter of hours, and she hates it.

“You require sustenance,” he murmurs, walking her backward.  He traps her gaze with his as her back bumps into the fridge.

Ellie shrugs.

“I do not like you so frail,” he murmurs as he runs the sash of her robe through his fingers.  With extreme slowness he unties the knot and lets the robe fall open.  Her breath hitches and she curses herself for not enjoying his body from the start.

She was damned the moment she took him home from the bar and she might as well have been reaping the benefits from the beginning.

“Do you require sustenance?” he whispers, lips against the shell of her ear.  She closes her eyes and shakes her head.  His hands caress her and Ellie knows that this is the real distraction she was craving earlier.

When he touches her it is so very easy not to think.

“You are mine, Eleanor,” he says, deadly serious.  At his frightening tone Ellie opens her eyes.  “You are mine now, just as you will be when Midgard’s pathetic attempt at resistance is crushed.  Mine, in every way imaginable, as you were meant to be.”

She fixes him with a blank stare.  Despite her strange and complex feelings regarding her megalomaniac captor turned fuck buddy, _his_ is one thing she will never be.  She is fundamentally opposed to the concept and even though she doesn’t belong anywhere out there in the big wide world, she won’t ever belong with him either.

This whole baffling relationship is about survival for Ellie, punctuated with moments of heart stopping pleasure, and really hasn’t that been the point of her existence for years now?

The next part, where he attempts to rule the world, that is something she can’t hope to survive.  She has to help resist because even if he comes out victorious, the guilt of failing all of humanity would crush her.  She prays for the victory of humankind, even if she doesn’t quite belong with them either.

Survival, self-preservation, is the reason she doesn’t verbally deny his claim.  Let him think what he wants, until the moment she can somehow figure out how to help the good guys.

“How many mortals have you bedded in your short life, I wonder,” Loki muses, tapping his chin with a finger.  Ellie bristles at the question, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at him.  “ A great many, I fear.”

She shrugs, in no position to deny the truth. She is not ashamed of her past. For a long time, sex was her only means for human connection and Ellie was always alone again after a few hours of pleasure.  But it sure was fun.

No doubt Loki has ruined this for her as well.

He touches her cheek in a gesture that is so tender it makes her uncomfortable and puts her on edge.  “I will kill them all,” he murmurs in a tone that would be loving if not for the words.   “All these faceless men who had your body but not your smiles.”

Ellie’s mouth falls open with an audible pop and her eyes go wide.

Loki chuckles.  “You know I could do this,” he says.

She nods dumbly and hopes this is another of his little pranks to get her riled up.

“I will do this for you.”

She snorts.  “That wouldn’t be for me, bucko,” she mutters before she can think better of it.  “It would be for you, you jealous, jealous demigod.”

“ _Bucko_?” he sputters.  “Jealous!”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone,” she whispers.  “And since when do you do things for me?”

He just blinks at her before the fury is back in his eyes.  As much as she wants to stand up to him, she finds herself cowering back into the stainless steel refrigerator.

“I do plenty for you,” he hisses, once again violating her personal space.  “My count is six orgasms last night alone, I let you putter around in the kitchen, and I will make you queen of my new regime.”

He ticks off a count on his fingers and a strange sputtering escapes her throat, followed by an amused snort.  His eyes bore into hers and all humor is gone.  Once again her eyes go wide with shock.

“Oh, fuck,” she mumbles.  “You’re serious.”

A fist slams into the fridge inches from her head, making her jump.  Again, she’s reminded of how truly dangerous and terrifying he is.  How can she keep forgetting?  Even sex with him is freaky, but somehow she keeps forgetting.

She’s going to need a damn good therapist after all this is done and over with.  Assuming she survives, of course.

“Do not mock me, Eleanor!”

More nonsensical gurgles leave her throat as she tries to find the words.

“It is sound logic,” he says, pushing away from her in favor of pacing.  He is talking to himself again, the insanity back in his eyes with full force. “Order will need to be established after glorious battle.  Glorious, surely, but not lengthy, and at some point order will need to be established over those who survive.  You will where a crown and you will smile.  I have seen it.”

She follows his frantic movements, just wanting it to be over.  Closing her eyes, she wishes him away to Germany. He makes no sense.  None of this makes any sort of sense.

“A Midgardian at my side would do well from a political perspective, help me consolidate my power, give me insight to this strange, primitive race, and I could abide no other near me.  I can barely tolerate your quiet presence.”

“Oh, the romance,” Ellie quips because she is a total idiot.

“You will get no romance from me,” he says with a cruel laugh.

“I want none.”

The pacing stops and he stands in front of her, tilting his head to the side to study her intently.  She bites her cheek to keep from trembling.

“You are mine, Eleanor.  I have seen it.”

“Seen it?  Why do you keep saying that?”

“You are mine,” he repeats, failing to explain.

Even her over active survival instinct can’t prevent her from denying it this time.  The headshake is so slight, but Loki’s sharp eyes miss little.  His hand closes around her throat and her head is slammed back into the refrigerator door, right next to the fist-sized dent he left there moments ago. Although she anticipated the violence of his reactions, terror still has her body shaking and stars dance in front of her eyes.

_Give him nothing that matters.  Give him nothing important._

“You are mine!” he screams, shaking her.  “Say it!”

She closes her eyes, forcing the tears there to stream down her cheeks, and then shakes her head once more.

Loki’s frustrated growl is accompanied by a tightening of his grip on her throat.  She struggles for breath, her eyes flying open to silently and futilely plea for mercy.  At some point her hands moved to claw at his wrist, to try to pry him off her throat, but as her fingernails dig into his skin, he doesn’t seem to notice.

Suddenly he relaxes.  She wheezes and coughs, trying to catch her breath and still her panicked heartbeat. Her grip on the handle of the fridge is the only thing that keeps her from falling to her knees.

“Really, I am to blame,” he says with a sigh.  His nonchalance is suspect.  “I’ve humored your insolence, overlooked your rampant misbehavior.  My own fault, that somehow after all our time here you think I ask a question.  You think you have a _choice.”_ He spits out the last word, and somehow this hint of emotion is better than his total indifference.  “After all I’ve told you of freedom, you continue to labor under the misimpression you still have yours.”

A cold metal object materializes in the small space between their bodies.  Loki lazily reaches for the scepter, letting out a sigh as if the contact brings him pleasure and relief.  His blue eyes seem to burn brighter.

Fear penetrates every crevice of Ellie’s conscious, as she finally understands his intent.  She struggles, desperate to get away, to save herself from the horrifying fate of Mr. Cutter and Erik Selvig and the Hawk and countless others.

“Although I did give you fair warning, Eleanor,” he murmurs, looking at her again as he presses the point of the scepter into her chest.  She feels it vibrate as if it is alive and demanding her very essence.  And maybe it is.  Maybe that’s how this works.  “Do you understand what I will do if you will not admit to being my possession?”

She nods.

“Will you say it now?”

She shakes her head.

“Say it!” he screams.  Ellie jumps, surprised to hear the fear in his voice.  “Say it,” he whispers, pleading with her now.

Either way she is lost, but she refuses to give him anything that matters.  He’ll have to take it by force, all the better that he very obviously doesn’t want to do it.  Ellie gets some minor satisfaction that he’ll suffer too, even as she stares down her greatest fear: losing herself.

Ellie shakes her head. 

For a moment she is oddly calm.

A sound that is part growl and part groan comes from the God of Chaos.  He hesitates for one moment as she beseeches him with her gaze, but he comes to a decision and presses the pointed tip into her chest more firmly.

Ellie lets out a whimper as a whirring fills her ears.  The scepter continues to vibrate as it begins to pulse in time with her heartbeat.  The weapon seems to hum, wanting to overcome her spirit.  A great heat blooms in her chest, and then there is nothing.

They both stare down at the scepter against her chest for a long moment, before their gazes meet.  He does not look surprised.  Not surprised at all.  His lack of surprise leads to so many questions, none of which she can manage to ask.

“Impressive,” Loki says, chuckling slightly.  Confusing her endlessly.  “As I thought.  Very impressive indeed.”

Gathering her meager courage and strength, Ellie defiantly raises her chin and shoves away his staff.  The glowing blue orb sizzles against her palm, calling to her, demanding something, but she’s able to ignore the pull.

“I will never be truly yours, Loki.”  Ellie’s voice is quiet, but the strength and resolve there is undeniable.  “I will sing and kneel and do what you say, but that doesn’t mean anything.  It’s all a show. I won’t ever truly be yours because you can’t totally possess someone without giving yourself back in return.  So no, I’m not yours, not unless you are mine too, and who says I would want any part of you?”

Without looking at him to gage his reaction, she moves around him and calmly exits the kitchen. 

* * *

 

Ellie is only given a few hours peace. 

She sits at her vanity, staring intently at her reflection and attempting to analyze her own actions and feelings.  She knows she is fucked up, this is not news, but sleeping with Loki, allowing herself to feel anything at all in his presence, it is more fucked up than she thought herself capable.

Why didn’t it work?  Was it his failing or is something wrong with her?  Something that has to do with her origins?  And what does he know about it?  How could he possibly have answers he didn’t have before?

The door of her bedroom flies open as she pokes miserably at the dark bruises on her neck.  Although she jumps in her seat, her gaze never leaves her reflection.

“Eleanor,” he says, looming over her.  She watches him impassively in the mirror.  His hand comes around her throat once more and she stiffens, but her does nothing but gently caress her skin.  If she didn’t know better she’d mistake the gesture for a silent apology.  “You are mine, despite your little out burst.”

When he leans down to kiss her, she nearly falls out of the chair.  The angle is awkward, but his lips make her dizzy and warm anyway.  It’s over before it really even begins, and then he’s stomping back the way he came, slamming the door behind him.

 


	9. Cigarettes and the Sky

Ellie waits a whole night before she dares step out of her bedroom.  Although it appears he really did leave for Germany, Loki is as unpredictable as he is crazy.  She proceeds with great cautions to his bedroom door.

She knocks first, just in case, and is relived to get no response.  Upon further inspection it becomes clear that his rooms are deserted, except for the many instruments she loves so much.

The kitchen is equally uninhabited, and when she presses her ear to the locked doors that lead to the workspace, she is met with silence.

A little thrill runs up her spine.  Surely he didn’t leave her totally unguarded, but this is as alone as she’s been in the weeks or months or whatever.

She considers for a moment or two before running back to her room. 

Kicking at the mattress until it shifts off the box springs, Ellie retrieves the clothes she stashed there.  It feels like lifetimes, but when she pulls on her holey jeans, favorite white tank top, and worn flannel shirt, she sighs in relief, feeling herself for the first time in weeks or months or whatever.

Rage boils her blood when she digs through her closet only to find her Converse sneakers missing. 

She’ll just have to go barefoot.  That’s not going to be pleasant.

For the first time in weeks she straps on her wristwatch with the thick black band and then tucks her hair into the black beanie he ripped from her head in the car.  She shoved it into her pocket when he wasn’t paying attention.

Ellie finds herself in the kitchen, staring at the large vent right above the fridge.  There are several identical to this on in the hall as well, but the ceiling is too high for her to have a shot at wiggling into one.

The vents have been tormenting her since she first noticed them at the very beginning of her stay, but she didn’t dare even look at them too long, not with Loki sneaking up at her at random times. 

But now she can’t hear any sounds coming from the workspace beyond the locked doors so she’ll take the risk.

She regrets leaving her instruments behind.  It’s an inane thought.

There is no hesitation in her movements and she climbs onto the counter, then the fridge.  There are no knives due to Loki’s magic, but she manages to get rid of the screws using the end of a fork.  She winces as the metal grate hits the concrete floor, and holds her breath, waiting for someone to come and lock her away in her room.

But there is no one.

She stares dubiously into the dark and wishes for a flashlight.  Knowing full well that this escape plan is probably crazy, futile, and something that only ever happens in the movies, she heaves her frame into the dark because this seems like the only action available.

She has to try to get out of here.  She has to warn someone, find someone that will believe her before it’s too late.

So she wiggles into the vent, blindly following it in hopes that it will meet up with the other vents in the hallway and eventually lead her out of the corridor and at least into the locked up work space.

From there she’ll just wing it.

Really, at this point what exactly does she have to lose?

It takes her nearly an hour, but Ellie gets to another grate.  She lets out a relieved sigh when she peers down into a familiar hallway.  She pauses for a moment, mouth against the grate as she attempts to inhale clean air.  The vent is almost unbearably dusty, and all the coughing slows Ellie’s pace.

Eventually she gets to the workspace.  She tries to get a good look at the abandoned equipment, marveling at the vast empty space. 

_Did he really leave me here totally alone?  He could die and I would stave down here.  Asshole._

The ceiling is high, but there is only about a ten foot drop between the grate and a rickety metal walkway that runs along one edge of the decaying workspace.  Ellie spends a good amount of time contemplating how exactly to bust open the grate to get out of the goddamn vent, and trying not to panic at the thought of dying in this tiny enclosed space in an abandoned underground bunker.

No one would notice nor would they care.

Using an elbow, she rhythmically pounds on the grate and seriously considers turning back.  The thought is painful and she hates her own weakness, hates that she would prefer to get back to the comfort and not safety, but at least the familiarity of her room below.

She is still fruitlessly banging away when an explosion shakes the bunker.  For one insane moment, she thinks she is the cause, but then the vent is falling, crashing onto the rickety metal walkway.  Heat and flame fill the large workroom for a moment.  The clanging rattles around in her head, leaving her disoriented as her ears ring.

Voices below sharpen into clarity a few moments later.  They shout things like “clear!” that make her think of the military.  On shaky hands and knees, Ellie crawls out of the vent.  For a moment there she was sure the dusty space would become her coffin.

As she shimmies on to the walkway, she comes face to face with shiny black boots.  She sits up onto her knees, and frowns down at the little red dots that glow against her dirty clothes.

They are screaming at her, but again, the words go fuzzy.  Still, she understands enough to raise her hands above her head.

“I’m—“ Dust and smoke and debris from the blown up doors at the far end of the workspace clog her throat.  “Eleanor Tate.  I’m Ellie and he kidnapped me.  Please don’t kill me.”

The little red dots disappear.

“Anyone got a cigarette?” she asks.

* * *

 

They put her in the back of a van before they take her to a private airstrip.  She asks if she can go back to his room to grab the guitar or maybe the banjo, but not one of the ten commandos acknowledge her request nor do they hand over a cigarette.

She goes willingly, wherever they lead, her bare feet padding along behind their heavy boots.

A slender woman in a dark blue jumpsuit greets them as the back door to the van is pulled open.  Ellie is disappointed to see that it’s night.  She’s missed the sun so desperately, even after Loki’s little stunt with the roof.

“Eleanor Tate?” asks the woman as the commandos get to their feet and file out of the vehicle.  Ellie stays put, pulling her beanie a little lower on her head.

She nods.

“Of Washington DC?”

She nods again.

“What were you dong in that bunker, Ms. Tate?” the woman asks.  Ellie stares at the gun at her hip for a moment.

“I was a prisoner,” she murmurs.

“Whose prisoner?”

Apparently finding the good guys was quite easy.  They came to her, but now that she’s out of the bunker she doesn’t exactly feel safe.  Far from it, actually.

“Loki.  He claimed to be a god.”

“And you believe him?”

Ellie shrugs.

“Why do you believe him?”

“He can do impossible, horrible things.”

The woman in the blue jump suit nods to the commandos, and one grabs Ellie’s upper arm, leading her out of the van.  He’s not exactly gentle, but it doesn’t hurt either.

“Let’s get her to the Helicarrier.”

Ellie is whisked away into a strange aircraft that appears to be a sort of helicopter, jet thing.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” observes the woman in blue.  “We’ll get you some shoes.  And clean clothes.  Did he do that to your neck?”

Ellie sits next to the dark haired woman in blue, fiddling about with buckles in her flight seat, but the woman has to take over when Ellie’s hand shake to badly.

“You don’t say much,” says the woman.

Ellie shrugs.

“Most people have questions,” she continues.

Ellie just stares straight ahead at a commando as the craft takes off. 

“I’m Agent Hill, associate director of SHIELD.”

Ellie nods, but has no idea what the fuck that means.

“Have you heard of SHIELD?”

Ellie shakes her head.

“Don’t you have questions?” pushes Agent Hill.  “Who are you?  Where are you taking me?  That sort of thing?”

“Are you the good guys, Agent Hill?” Ellie asks.

“Yes.  We are the good guys.”

“Okay, then.”

When she gets a good look at the floating fortress in the sky that is their ultimate destination, flickering out of apparent invisibility, Ellie really does have questions but she finds herself unable to speak at all.  

Since meeting Loki, Ellie knows that she understands nothing about the universe.  There is magic and other realms and gods with unspeakable power in this world, but something about the floating fortress in the sky dries up the questions on her tongue.

* * *

 

The commandos escort her to a room that is really more of a cell.  It is very familiar, and she grins ruefully.  She has gone from a prison in the ground to a prison in the sky, it would seem.

Agent Hill gives her a funny look when she’s unable to contain her giggle.

“Clean up quickly,” says Agent Hill, pausing in the doorway.  “You’ll need to be debriefed.”

Ellie nods mutely, wandering into a bathroom.  She grins when she gets a good look at herself in the mirror.  The massive amount of dust and dirt from her escape attempt and the explosion that ended it make her look like a chimney sweep.

She washes her face and beats the dust out of her beanie before discarding it on the counter.  Running her fingers through her hair, she moves back to bedroom area to find a stack of neatly folded clothes, all in black.

The pants mold tightly to her legs, but the jacket is a shade too big.  It’s collar reminds her of Loki’s leather trench and a shudder goes up her spine.  She’s with the good guys now, but she doesn’t feel safe, and she is certainly not free of Loki’s grasp.

She frowns at the heavy combat boots.  It’s been weeks or maybe months since she’s worn shoes, and the prospect of donning such footwear now is unpleasant, but she doubts it is proper etiquette to show up to a debriefing with bare feet.

Whatever the fuck a debriefing even is.

For five minutes she sits cross-legged on the end of the bed before the commandos are back.  They actually knock, which is somewhat refreshing. 

Loki never knocks.  He prefers to sneak up on her, making her jump and squeak.

She’s led to a sort of command center, surrounded on three sides by giant windows.  Occasionally a dark cloud passes by, but Ellie cannot see much out in the night.  She’s thankful, despite the lack of sunshine.  Flying has never been her favorite activity.

There are forty some odd people, all dressed similarly to Agent Hill in dark blue, seated at workstations, but the bridge area is oddly quiet.   They stare transfixed at screens that play a newsreel.  Ellie’s eyes go wide at the headline.

Attack at benefit gala in Stuttgart.

“Oh, fuck,” she mumbles as stares at the footage taken from cell phones and security cameras.  There is Loki, in golden armor and a truly ridiculous hat with antlers, commanding a crowd of hundreds to kneel.  Copied images of the god keep the former party goes corralled. 

Ellie wants to call out to them, to explain that the projections are incorporeal, but apparently this happened hours ago.  Plus, he’s got the glowing stick of doom so they’re all fucked anyway.  She isn’t surprised to see him blow up a cop car with a blast of blue.

The commandos have led her to a large circular table near the back of the expansive room, and she sits, finding her legs incapable of supporting her weight.

“Oh, fuck,” she mutters again. 

Logically, all this time she’s known that he is dangerous and deranged.  She has seen his darkness, but in the confines of the corridor, it seemed much more complicated, something that he was losing a battle against. 

Seeing him out here in the wide world, he is just evil.  Absolute evil.

A different news station plays a clip from a security camera of Loki addressing the cowering crowd.

“Is this not this simpler?” he asks.  The audio is disjointed, but the news station helpfully includes subtitles.   “Is this not your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you _crave_ subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity.  You were made to be ruled.  In the end, you will always kneel.”

She’s heard this all before of course, and back then her only response was an eye roll.  There, in the relative safety and familiarity of the corridor, it just seemed like such utter and total bullshit, not even worth commenting on.

Guilt threatens to crush her.  She should have commented. Not that there is any changing Loki’s mind, but she didn’t even try. 

And what was it?  A day ago that she was fucking him?  She wanted it.  Oh, how she wanted it.  How part of her still want it.

Pulling her knees to her chin, she watches intently as some dude all decked out in American flag paraphernalia, a jet, and the infamous Iron Man take Loki away.  They roll the same clips, and orders are barked, but there is a ringing in Ellie’s ears and words don’t sound right.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump and for one horrible moment Ellie is convinced she’ll turn to see Loki, giving her that mischievous grin.  The one that is infectious, rather than the one that is fucking crazy.

She turns instead to see a tall one-eyed man in a trench coat.  Something about the way he is staring at her gives Ellie the impression that he’s been watching for awhile, carefully gauging her reaction.

“You look surprised,” he comments.

Ellie shrugs.  “I shouldn’t be.”

“But you are?”

She shrugs again. “I feel sick,” she whispers, covering her face in her hands.

“I’m Director Fury.  I trust Agent Hill has told you what you need to know about SHIELD?” he says.

She nods.  They are the good guys, some covert government agency that has probably known about beings like Loki and other realms for a good long while.

“You, Eleanor Tate, have been missing for close to three months,” he says.  She stares at him in horror.  Her time in that underground hallway felt both longer than three months and much, much shorter.  “And we’ve been looking for you.”

She glances up as he takes the seat next to her.  “You have?” she squeaks, totally surprised.

She’s nothing.  A nobody.  How could the disappearance of a nobody possibly garner the attention of an organization like SHIELD?

“Your friend, a John Gill?  He reported you missing, said you were taken away after he himself was attacked.”  Ellie blinks.  It’s been so long since she thought about her life before the bunker.  “Anyway, he said some pretty crazy things that DC law enforcement took to be bullshit.”

It’s a struggle to remember exactly what was said on that night that Loki took her away.  He loudly proclaimed to be the God of Mischief, but the other details remain blurry.

“To be honest,” Fury continues.  “We didn’t think much of it until five days ago when the war criminal known as Loki made himself known.  The testimony of your friend matched our information on Loki, and we got involved in your search.”

_It starts today.  It all starts today._

Was it only five days ago he fucked her silly, murmured those words, and then utterly terrified her?

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Director Fury asks, his good eye narrowing at her.

“Sorta,” she admits.  “I don’t know the details.  He got something he wanted five days ago.  It will all go very quickly now, what ever he has planned.”

“You don’t know.”

She shakes her head.

“He told you nothing?”

There are some things he did tell her, some things she knows, and the whole point of her misguided vent adventure was to find the good guys, to tell them what she knows, but Loki is on television with a funny hat and she can’t remember anything.  Not a single fucking thing.

This might be shock.

She shakes her head again. 

Director Fury sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“So he took you three months ago.  Why?”

“For my voice.”

“Your voice.”

“He likes to hear me sing.”

Fury stares at her blankly, and Ellie winces.  It sounds completely absurd to her too.

“Sing,” Fury repeats, obviously skeptical.  Ellie just shrugs.  She obviously has no insights to the inner workings of Loki.  Maybe she once thought she did, but that was in the bunker when she was plagued with Stockholm syndrome.  She was delirious with loneliness and really spectacular sex. 

Now she is just empty and guilty and he head isn’t working.

“And he didn’t tell you anything?” Fury presses. 

“I know he means to rule this world,” Ellie repeats, doing his best imitation of Loki’s smooth accent.  Fury’s lip twitches, as if he almost smiles.  She tries to snap herself out of the shock.  “That stuff that he was babbling about freedom, I’ve heard all that.  I’ve seen him work some crazy voodoo on people, stealing their identity, but as for the how I have no idea. Oh shit.  And there is an army.  I don’t know where or who, but he has some sort of fucking alien army.  And a portal.”

There.  That’s what she needed to tell the good guys.

The words sound truly insane, but Director Fury looks like he believes her.  Ellie would rather be crazy again then have it be true.

An alarm is raised.  Someone calls out for Director Fury and Agent Hill barks an order at the commandos to escort her back to her room / cell.

* * *

 

Ellie attempts to sleep.  She tries to figure out just how long it’s been since she’s had any rest, but she honestly can’t remember.  After being a prisoner of Loki’s for so long, being somewhere new is disorienting, and Ellie is unable to sleep, despite her total exhaustion.

It’s hours before Agent Hill returns.

“They’re all here now,” she says absently as she leads Ellie down the same hall as before, to the same bridge.  “The team that we’ve assembled to take down Loki.  We need you to tell them everything.  Even the most meaningless details could help stop this psycho.”

Ellie forces herself to nod, despite how truly horrible this is sure to be.

They reach the bridge.  It is day now, and Ellie stares avidly at the sunshine streaming in through the massive window.

It’s so beautiful she almost cries. 

Alarmed by her overwhelming emotions, she strives for apathy again.  She is numb, bordering on delusional, but that’s probably from the lack of sleep.

This team of good guys is sure to have questions and there are many things Ellie absolutely refuses to say.  Her own weakness surely is of no consequence to the mission to stop Loki.

Ellie approaches the table with great caution as she studies those gathered around it.   Standing directly in front of her is a slightly disheveled man with brown hair, clothed in a purple button up.  He leans with his arms against a back of a swivel chair

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” says the man, turning to address the patriotic dude she saw fight Loki in Germany who sits two seats away.

“Loki’s gonna drag this out.”  There is a pregnant pause.  “So, Thor, what’s his play?”

Ellie’s eyes go wide when she sees the looming blond figure, staring out the windows.  He turns slowly, massive arms crossed over his massive chest.  His armor is painfully similar to Loki’s and she wonders if he is from Asgard too.

“He has an army called the Chitauri,” the maybe god in red replies. 

Agent Hill nods to a seat before moving to stand by the man speaking.  Ellie slips silently into the chair.

“They are not of Asgard, nor any world known.  He means to lead them against your people.  They will win him your world, in return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

No one seems to notice Ellie’s small, quiet presence, save for a redhead in a cat suit that sits directly across the table.  The intensity of her stare makes Ellie nervous, especially when her eyes flick to the bruises peaking out of the collar of Ellie’s jacket.

“An army from outer space,” mutters the patriotic dude, sounding as dazed as Ellie feels.

“So he’s building another portal.  That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for,” says the rumpled one.

“Selvig?” asks the maybe god.

“He’s an astrophysicist.”

“He’s a friend.”

“He’s incredibly goofy,” Ellie murmurs before she can think better of it.  All eyes snap to her.  The men look a little startled by her presence. Ellie smiles ruefully.  “I made him French toast,” she says as if this is at all relevant.

“Who are you?” asks the patriotic one after a beat of stunned silence.

“This is Eleanor Tate,” Agent Hill says, giving Ellie a small frown.  “We pulled her out of an abandoned factory in Virginia that Loki was using as a base for the last couple months.  She was his hostage.”

They all ogle her a little more.  Ellie studies the table.

“It’s Ellie,” she corrects.

“Ellie,” Agent Hill continues.  “Dr. Bruce Banner, Steve Rodgers, Agent Romanoff, and Thor.”  She points to each person. 

“You’ve had contact with Erik Selvig?” Thor asks.

“And Barton?” asks Agent Romanoff.

Ellie nods.  “They are all… miniony, but other wise okay.”

“How does he do it?” the redhead asks

“He uses that glowing stick of doom,” Ellie supplies, feeling like an imbecile compared to these very serious good guys.  “He holds it to their chests, their eyes glow blue, and they aren’t themselves anymore.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, absorbing the horror that is Loki.

“I want to know why Loki let us take him,” says Steve Rodgers.  “He’s not leading an army from here.”

“He wants to test your mettle,” Ellie supplies, mimicking the gods voice.  They stare at her like she’s crazy.  She feels a little crazy.

“You seem to know an awful lot for a hostage,” Steve Rodgers replies. 

Ellie just shrugs.

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki.  That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats.  You can smell crazy on him,” says Dr. Bruce Banner, pacing around behind Ellie’s chair.

She snorts at his very accurate assessment. Bag full of cats, indeed.  It earns her glares from various individuals seated around the table.

“Have care how you speak,” says Thor.  “Loki is beyond reason but he is of Asgard.  And he is my brother.”

Ellie sits up a little straighter, eyes fixed on the Asgardian.  She sees nothing of Loki in this blond god.

“He killed 80 people in two days,” Agent Romanoff says.  Once more it gets very difficult for Ellie keep from crying.

“He is adopted,” Thor explains, dismissively, making Ellie’s heart stop in her chest.  Blood pounds in her ears.  She knew it.  She knew he was like her.

And she hates the blond god a little for the way he so willingly denies any familial bond with Loki, how he throws out the word _adopted_ like its nothing, like it absolves him of any guilt by association with the god he calls brother.

“I think it’s about the mechanics,” mutters Dr. Bruce Banner. “Iridium… what do they need the iridium for?”

“Should we really be discussing this with her here?” Steve Rodgers asks, avoiding Ellie’s gaze.  “What do we really know about this girl?  Loki could want her right here, listening to our plans.”

Ellie just doesn’t have it in her at the moment to be offended.  The trauma of recent months is rapidly catching up with her, making it feel as though she is struggling to keep her head above water.

“Fury’s cleared her.  The story checks out,” Hill explains.  “She was found in a vent trying to escape.”

“I wasn’t with him willingly,” Ellie murmurs.  She goes back to staring at the tabletop when she realizes this isn’t total truth.

“Look at the bruises on her neck, Steve,” says Agent Romanoff.

Ellie cowers away from the team of good guys, pulling her legs off the floor to hug them to her chest.

“Do you even know what iridium is?” Bruce Banner asks her gently.

“It’s a stabilizing agent.” All eyes turn to the pair of new comers.  The one who spoke turns to mumble something under his breath to a SHIELD agent, but Ellie doesn’t catch it.  She’s too busy reeling from all she’s learned.  

“It means the portal won’t collapse on itself,” he continues as he looks around the bridge.  “Like it did at SHEILD.  No hard feelings, Point Break.  You’ve got a mean swing.” 

He condescendingly pats the Thunder God on the arm and it’s almost amusing how much smaller Tony Stark is without the armor, compared to the massive Thor.  Ellie recognizes him from the news. 

“Also, it means the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants,” says Iron Man.

He speaks more gibberish that Ellie can’t follow.  From the look on the faces of the others gathered at the table, they don’t get what he’s going on about either.

“That man is playing Galaga,” Stark announces suddenly, pointing accusingly.  “He thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.”

Iron Man is a fucking weirdo and Ellie hates him a little too for acting so goddamn caviler when Loki’s killed eighty people in two days and Eleanor can’t breathe because she is in so far over her head here.

Stark talks about some about the materials needed for the portal as he plays with the screens before moving back to the table.  She hugs her knees a little closer to her chest, feeling so small and stupid compared to these giant personalities.  The good guys. 

“Did no one do the reading?” he asks when he is met with silence.  His eyes fall on Ellie for the first time.  “I know you,” he says.  “You weren’t part of the homework, but I know you.”

Ellie mouth pops open in shock because no, the infamous Tony Stark certainly doesn’t know her.

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” asks Dr. Bruce Banner.  Tony replies, and the two go back and forth, talking about science things and losing everyone else gathered at the table.

“Finally, someone who speaks English,” Stark declares.

“Is that what just happened?” asks Steve Rodgers.

“Seriously, I know you.” The notorious Iron Man points to Ellie again, swiveling her chair around to stare at her more intently.  She raises an eyebrow at him.

Banner moves to shake Stark’s hand, and only then does he turn away from Ellie.

“And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster,” he tells the doctor before turning back to Ellie.  “How do I know you?”

She lets out an irritated huff, letting her feet drop to the floor and crossing her arms over her chest as she scowls at him.

“Well, I don’t know you,” she mutters.

“Oh,” he says with a boyish grin.  He cages her in with hands on the arm’s of her chair, face uncomfortably close to hers.  “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Ellie smirks and hums Black Sabbath’s _Iron Man_ under her breath, making Tony Stark laugh.

“Okay, who is this?” he asks, pulling away.

“That is Miss Tate and she is here to give us a little insight into the megalomaniac we have locked up,” says Director Fury.

“You’re that singer!” declares Stark with glee, taking the chair next to her.  “That’s it.  I saw you at some club in DC last February.  You’ve got pipes, kid.”

The memory assaults her and despite the alcohol she consumed on that particular evening, she remembers the club being closed down for a private party.  She still can’t remember the guest of honor, but if it was Tony Stark that would explain Loki’s presence that night.

“Loki thinks so too,” says Fury.  “Okay, Banner.  Back to the lab.  All the insight in the world won’t mean shit if we can’t find the cube.”

“I’ll join you in one little minute,” says Stark, leaning back in his chair and tenting his fingers as he studies Ellie.  She stares at the tabletop as Fury takes a seat across from her.

“We’re going for full disclosure here, Miss Tate.”  Nick Fury, with every last ounce of his limited patience. He glowers across the stainless steel table at the small woman absently braiding her wild blond hair.  “Do you understand what we need from you?  Time is a pretty big factor.”

Ellie sighs heavily and tells her story, but only after demanding a condition.  She wants to see him, has to see him, for no apparent reason.

The details of that long ago February night when she brought Loki home are glossed over.  She tells them only of his bizarre questions and skips the rest, but the good guys undoubtedly read the subtext. 

She talks about how he found her after the show months later and how he threatened to kill her band mate.  She tells them about the driver and the doctor and Mr. Cutter, all their terrible and beautiful blue eyes, so like Loki’s.  She talks about how she would sing and how fear and anxiety prevent him from sleeping. 

As she talks she stares at the tabletop but when she fondly remembers each instrument he gifted her, Ellie smiles softly.

The good guys neither appreciate nor understand her smiles, so she stares at the tabletop again and talks about the strange incident in the kitchen when he seemed to converse with someone she couldn’t see.

And how he seemed so frightened in the aftermath.

She tells them the tidbits he told her, about his portal and his alien army and his glorious purpose.

The good guys get all she can remember but she keeps the parts that don’t matter to herself.

The sex was obviously of no consequence. 

She gives them nothing that matters, because that worked so damn well with the god in question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks so much for reading. I am new to AO3 and I must say i am digging this site. The lovely comments I've received are certainly making this newbie experience a great one.
> 
> So I've pretty much finished up this little tale over on fanfiction.net. I'm trying to really proof read each chapter here and that takes a bit of time, but I should be posting regularly over here now.
> 
> Also, there are quite a few quotes in this one right out the Avengers so now seems like a good time to remind you that I own nothing.
> 
> So in case we were not clear on that, I own nothing!
> 
> Thanks ever so much for reading. Seriously, you are so wonderful.


	10. Floating Fortress

“Lady Eleanor Tate?”  The booming voice, accompanied by the excessively loud knock, makes her sit upright in her bed.  Her eyes are so tired and she’s lost track of how long it’s been since she slept, but quieting her head proves to be a total impossibility. 

She’s still not used to it, this crazy new world of superheroes and demons and gods.  All the guns around this _floating fucking fortress_ freak her out.  Everything freaks her out, and she can’t sleep.

In the bunker it was so easy to pretend that it wasn’t real, that Loki was all talk, that his magic was tricks only.

The real world is kicking her ass, but she still can’t sleep.

“May I enter, Lady Eleanor?”

It takes her another moment to recognize the deep, vaguely British although not quite voice, and then another to find her own.

“Um… sure,” she manages.

Thor fills up her entire doorway, making Ellie feel even smaller.  She turns on the bed, crossing her legs under her slight frame, and although she should probably be welcoming him to her new cell, she can’t find it in her to get up.

“Do I disturb your slumber, my lady?” he asks, frowning down at her with concern. 

She shakes her head.

He glances around for a place to sit, and finding none, looks at the foot of her bed.  “May I sit?”

She just nods, totally baffled by his presence in her room. 

How did this become her life?  He is a freaking god.  A whole day every week is named after him for fucks sake and he is calling her Lady Eleanor Tate and how the fuck is this her life?

Ah yes, that would be Thor’s mentally unstable brother, the God of Mischief and Lies.

“I…” Thor abruptly closes his mouth as he stares at her with such pity.  Ellie shifts awkwardly under his gaze while he attempts to puzzle out what to say.  His brow furrows and she wonders what’s going on in that pretty little head of his.

It’s actually a rather giant head.

Whatever.

“How do you fair?” he murmurs.

No one has asked her that, not since her so called rescue by the so called good guys.  No one particularly seems to care about how she is doing.  They are too busy being suspicious of her involvement with Loki.

Also trying to save the world.

She’ll give them that one.

Ellie tries to respond for once, but the words get clogged in her throat and she just ends up shrugging.

“I must apologize for my brother,” Thor says gently.  His massive palm twitches, as if he wants to reach out and comfort her, but upon seeing her fragility he stops.  “He is not well.”

“Adoptive brother,” she mutters.  Thor looks offended, his bright blue eyes going wide.

“Brother,” he insists.

Ellie shrugs and the words come to her.  “I know he’s not well.  Really, really not well at all.  Something about using that scepter of his… He’s like a drug addict.  It gets him high when he uses it, but after he feels like shit.  He’s like a mentally ill drug addict.”

Again, Ellie would know.

“Mentally ill?” Thor asks, squinting at her.  Maybe they don’t have that short of thing in the highly evolved realm of the gods, but she thinks about Loki and the fact that he’s adopted, and somehow she doubts it.

“Just… sick,” she says, not having the energy to really explain.

Thor nods, crossing his arms over his chest and stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“He harmed you?” Thor asks.

Ellie shrugs.

“Forced himself upon you?” he asks after pausing for a long moment. He looks extremely wary.

Ellie shakes her head because as much as she hates herself, it was all consensual.

“He tried to control you, with this scepter of his?”

Ellie nods.

“But he was unable to do so.  Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“He thinks you Aesir.”

“Look, dude,” she says with a heavy sigh.  “I’ve been through a lot of shit in the last three months.  Knowing that there are other realms, that you are a god, it’s really a lot to get my head around and I just don’t have room up there to think about what I am at the moment.  Let’s just focus on keeping your brother from releasing his army and bringing around the end of the world.”

“Wise words, Lady Eleanor Tate.”

“Eleanor is fine.”

“Wise words, Lady Eleanor.”

She sighs.

“I really don’t have anything else to say.  You heard it all during my little briefing.  Why are you here?” she murmurs.

Thor looks her right in the eye, staring at her so intently it makes her uncomfortable. In this moment he reminds Ellie of his adoptive brother.  

His eyes flicker to the bruises on her neck and then back to her eyes.  Ellie studies her lap.

“There is more,” Thor says.  “You did not share the entirety of your relationship with my brother, I believe.”

“What are you implying, oh God of Thunder?” she snaps, getting defensive.

“You care for him.”

She sputters, not knowing what to say about that bit of idiotic simplicity. 

Undeniably, she feels something for Loki.  It was brought on by a strange combination of loneliness, sexual attraction, and deep empathy, but he truly is deranged, bent on world domination.  Knowing all that makes it impossible to simply _care for him._

“Do you not?” he asks.

“It’s complicated,” she admits.  “He was the only person I had any sort of contact with for three months, and there were moments when he wasn’t creepy evil and there were times I actually wanted him around, but he did kidnap me and he wants to enslave my planet, so no, I can’t _care_ for him, even if I have some weird, confused instinct to do just that.”

Thor smiles ruefully.

Eleanor is amazed by her own verbalized honesty.

“But you do not totally despise him, Lady Eleanor.”

“Does this matter?” she says with a sigh.

“Perhaps it may.  I take comfort knowing there is another being on this craft who does not completely loathe my brother.  You speak with wisdom and should do so more often,” he muses.  “Come, I will have the soldiers escort you to my brother’s prison.”

“Now?” Suddenly she regrets her ridiculous demand to see him.  What is she even going to say?  That was one thing she failed to think through.

“Indeed,” nods the God of Thunder.

* * *

 

Ellie is ushered into the room that holds Loki just as Agent Romanoff is exiting. 

“Let’s see if he’s so eager to unleash the Hulk once he knows you’re up here with us,” she murmurs, watching Ellie with unsettling intensity.  It feels as though the redhead can see her every secret.  The agent’s eyes flicker to the bruises on Ellie’s neck, and she zips up the collar, hiding.  She is so very tired of being ogled by this group of good guys.

The commandos do not follow her into the chamber that holds a large glass container, leaving her alone with her former captor.  She lingers in the shadows for a moment, watching him pace in the circular enclosure.

She bites her bottom lip to keep from crying.  What exactly she is doing here, what exactly these good guys hope to accomplish, is beyond her.  Looking at him makes her feel uncomfortable and dirty and guilty.

The good guys are watching and it was incredibly stupid to request this audience.  He will undoubtedly say something that will fill them in on the whole sex component of their relationship, totally complicating her shaky status as almost a prisoner and making SHIELD that much more suspicious of her intentions.

Loki abruptly stops his pacing, face almost pressed into the glass.  As he stares intently right where Ellie is lurking, she knows she’s caught and steps closer, into the light.  She keeps her face blank, arms crossed over her chest as she approaches the glass of his cage.

For a moment his eyes go wide with shock and fear, but then he is composed once more, glaring at her.  She recoils slightly, recognizing the danger of the mania behind his gaze, before she remembers that he is trapped and she is safe.

Relatively safe, given all the guns and supernatural stuff happening in this _floating fucking fortress_.

“What did you do?” he hisses.

For a moment she forgets her fear and guilt.  She hates the way he addresses her as if she is simply a misbehaving child. The anger makes her feel strong.  She stands straighter, dropping her arms to her sides and returning his glare.

“What did you do!” His yell reverberates in the enclosed space, but she does not cower this time nor does she speak.

“Eleanor.”  When his palm slaps against the wall of his cage, she doesn’t even flinch.  “You will answer me.  Now tell me, what did you do?”

“You’re adopted,” she murmurs.

He goes completely still and it is with great difficulty that he manages to make his features shift from shock into a look of mild distain.

“I have no family nor do I require one.”

“I _knew_ it.”

“What?” he snaps.

“Me too. I…  just, me too.”

He looks at her for a long moment.

“What did you do?” he demands, angry once more.

“I wish I’d done something,” she mumbles.  “I was trying to escape.  Thanks for leaving me in an abandoned warehouse, by the way.  I could have easily starved to death.”

“I would have returned promptly.  There were more than enough rations to hold you for months.  Now answer me!”  He’s pacing again, continuing to stare. 

“You probably think I’m some sort of alien super spy again, huh?” she muses.

“Eleanor!”

“I climbed up through a vent in the kitchen,” she says, feeling quite proud of herself.  “The one right above the fridge? But I only made it as far as your abandoned workspace before the commandos busted in and brought me here.”

He seems to relax fractionally, making Ellie wish she found the commandos on her own volition. 

“SHIELD found you,” he muses, somewhat impressed.  “I thought it only a precaution, relocating the whole operation, but now I commend my exceptional foresight.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“I left you there because I thought you would be more comfortable in our bunker, amongst your instruments,” he says.  “I apologize, for letting them take you.”

“It’s cool, turns out.  These are the good guys.”

He laughs, but then immediately sobers.

“Are you hurt?” he whispers.

Spitefully, she unzips her jacket, showing him the bruises he left on her neck.  He ignores her gesture.

“What have you told them?”

“Everything I know.”

Loki snorts.  “So nothing, you mean to say.  But why send you to me now?”

Ellie shrugs.

“Everything?” he asks, smirking mischievously.  “Every little _detail_ of our time together?”

His voice is absolutely dripping with sex but Ellie just shrugs again.  He lets out a huff, irritated by her lack of reaction, and then he abruptly stops pacing.

“Romanoff, she spoke to you in passing,” Loki says, eyes unfocused.  Ellie is reminded of his alleged ability to skim the thoughts of others.  He can’t manage it with her, for whatever reason, but he must be in the agent’s head now.

Ellie waits in silence as Loki’s eyes twitch around, seeing what she can’t see, using his goddamn magic.

When he lets out a gleeful laugh, Ellie actually does jump.  This makes him smirk even wider.

“Oh, how delightfully naive, these heroes of earth.  How blessedly desperate they must be, to try to manipulate feelings that could never and would never exist,” he murmurs, looking directly at a camera now.

Ellie shakes her head as she begins to understand Agent Romanoff’s passing comment.  Loki plans something big and dangerous to cripple SHIELD from the inside, but she’s here too. 

“Sentiment,” Loki says, spitting out the word with disgust.

“Wow, she read you like a fucking book,” Ellie muses, smiling slightly.  He just stares at her.  “Don’t you blink at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about.  I saw the fear in your eyes when I walked in here.  You don’t want me to die.  Me being here?  It’s a big old kink in your grand plan, and you might not mourn my death, but you certainly don’t want it to be your plan that kills your own little pet.”

Loki scowls.  “As usual, your words betray your true ignorance, Eleanor.”

“Whatever, _Loki_.”

For once he is silent.  For once, she smirks. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, until an explosion sounds in the distance, causing the enormous floating fortress to jerk and shutter.  The movement has Ellie falling forward and smacking her head against the glass.  She slumps over, disoriented, but the sound of Loki’s voice brings her back.

“Eleanor,” he says.  “Look at me.  You remain uninjured.”

She presses her cheek to the glass and watches him.  He is crouched, his face inches from hers, separated only by thick glass.

“Listen to me,” he whispers. “That is Agent Barton.”

“Barton?”

“The Hawk has arrived.  You are to remain right here within my line of sight, do you understand?” he says, talking in the same low voice.

She scowls at him. 

Does he understand that she hasn’t been able to make any choices regarding her own location for three months?  If the commandos come to take her away she is fucking going away.

“This craft is doomed, Eleanor,” he continues.  “Release me.”

She raises an eyebrow.  Just how crazy is he?

“Do not look at me in such a way,” he snaps.  “It is only a matter of time before I am once more free.  Expedite the process and I will ensure your safety.”

Ah, that’s right.  He’s totally and completely crazy.  She gestures to the bruises on her neck and looks at him with skepticism.

With a frustrated growl, he smacks the wall of his prison once more.  The vibration against her wounded head makes her wince. “You stubborn, foolish, girl!  Do you have any idea what is coming?  You will be ripped apart.”

“So basically you are saying either way I’m fucked,” she mutters.

“No,” he says, smiling his maniacal grin.  “The only way you are _fucked_ is if you let me out immediately.  The other option is your painful and brutal—“

A piercing roar interrupts the god’s tirade. The growl echoes in the depths of the floating fortress. Ellie’s head whips around in the direction of the sound.  Her heartbeat picks up, and she turns back to Loki, seeking out answers.

“I do not lie, Eleanor.  The beast has awakened and you will be ripped apart.  I’ve seen it.”

For one brief moment, Ellie considers doing as he says.  She doesn’t doubt that he will protect her from the so called beast and the general chaos, as long as it does not threaten his greater plans in someway, but she already has enough to atone for.  The guilt is nearly crushing her, so she stays put, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

His other words sink in.

“Seen it?” she whispers, searching his face.  He’s certainly seen quite a bit lately.

A mad smile stretches across his face for a moment before he focuses once more on Ellie.  He looks at her in confusion, as if he can’t quite remember how she came to be here, before shaking his head and frowning.

“Eleanor, grant me my freedom,” he coaxes. “Do as I say or you will regret it immensely.”  

Ellie opens her eyes to glare at him again, but she is met with black boots for the second time in as many days.  She follows the body up to see Agent Romanoff staring down at her with crossed arms, shaking her head.

“Come on,” she says, extending a hand towards Ellie.  “I need to get you back to your room.  We’re under attack.”

_No shit._

Ellie doesn’t hesitate to take the extended hand, and Loki growls again.

“Barton,” he whispers as they depart.  “Find her.”

They race down a dimly lit corridor in the bowls of the aircraft.  The sounds of gunfire and growls echo in the hall.  Agent Romanoff drags Ellie along by the hand, and the small woman stumbles as she struggles to keep up

“Hurry, hurry,” says the agent.  The stoic woman’s panic increases Ellie’s fear.  She was so together before.

Their path is blocked when a giant green _thing_ crashes through a wall some ten feet in front of them.  Agent Romanoff pushes Ellie back as she drawls her gun.  With a scream, Ellie falls to the ground, desperately trying to scramble back and away from the beast.

_You will be ripped apart._

Loki’s words echo in her head, and upon seeing this nightmarish creature, she wishes that she would have just let him free because as misguided as it may be, she trusts him to at least protect her from this _thing_. 

And how fucking horrible is that?  In this moment she is selfish enough to sacrifice humanity by letting Loki out if it means she’ll be saved from the horror before her.

Agent Romanoff is talking in hushed tones, as if she can calm the beast with logic and soothing words.  Ellie gets to her feet and tries to stop shaking.  She backs away slowly, not wanting to run for fear that it will chase her.

The beast lets out a roar, taking a step in their direction.  Ellie can feel the heat of its breath even from her position behind the agent, and she bites her cheek to keep from screaming. 

“Run,” Agent Romanoff says just as another large blur of red fabric and gold hair shoots through the same hole in the wall that sparks with busted electrical wiring.

The force of Thor’s attack is so great that he and the beast fly through the opposite wall.  The sound of the pair crashing through wall after wall reverberates in the metal corridor.

The lights flicker and Eleanor cannot breathe.

Agent Romanoff turns back to Ellie and opens her mouth to speak, but the words are lost as the giant craft lurches once more.  Ellie can feel the sensation of falling in her stomach, and the flooring gets uneven.  She understands that she needs to grab something to steady her body too late, and she slides down the hallway, failing to snag a railing to prevent it. 

She tumbles down, following the ever-growing incline of the floor as if it’s a slide until she slams against a heavy steel door at the end of the hallway.  The force of the impact makes something within her crunch and she cries out in agony.  Ellie curls into a little ball against the door and tries to catch her breath, even if there is a searing pain every time she pulls air into her lungs. 

She wipes blood from her cheek as the carrier evens out once more.  The marks on her neck are going to look minor compared to the injuries she just sustained.  She continues to lie in a heap on the floor, body and mind equally bruised and battered.

Maybe she’ll just stay here forever.  If she closes her eyes, maybe it will all just go away.

At the sound of footsteps on the metal floor, Ellie opens her eyes to see a now familiar pair of boots.

“You okay?” Agent Romanoff asks.

Ellie nods.

“Come on.” 

Ellie is pulled to her feet and clutches Agent Romanoff to steady her shaking body.  She winces at the pain in her ribs.

Progress is slow and they only make it fifteen feet before the Hawk drops down from the dark ceiling somewhere, landing lightly behind Ellie, putting her between the two similarly dressed killers.

She wants to scream but the pain would not be worth it.

“Come with me, Miss Tate,” says the Hawk, extending a hand.  He stares at Agent Romanoff, not even glancing at Ellie.  She supposes he’s still under order not to even look at her.  The talking thing was revoked, it would seem.

Ellie just stares in shock as Agent Romanoff brushes past her, engaging the Hawk in combat.  The redhead quickly disarms the brainwashed minion, and then it’s a tangle of deadly limbs.  Ellie steps back and watches, entranced by the sight before her.  They fight with their whole bodies and Ellie has a difficult time determining who exactly is winning as they swing around and beat the shit out of each other.

Agent Romanoff bashes Barton’s head against a metal railing.  The sound rings in Ellie’s ears as he falls to his knees, struggling to find his feet. 

“Natasha?” he whispers as he squints up at her.

Romanoff hits his head again, and he crumples to the floor in a heap.

Ellie is still unconsciously backing up, away from the danger, and she walks right into a solid and familiar chest.  She screams, thoroughly terrorized by everything she’s witnessed in the last fifteen minutes, as Loki wraps his arms around her, making her groan when he comes in contact with her ribs.

“Eleanor,” he says in greeting. “Agent Romanoff.”

The agent spins on her heel, drawing her weapon, but the world seems to melt away around them before she can get off a shot.

Wind is rushing in Ellie’s ears and she gasps for breath as her sight clarifies once more.  It feels as if she’s been twisted inside out.  She leans against Loki, her limbs incorporative.  It takes her a few moments to realize they are outside, floating thousands of feet above the ground.  Her terror is renewed and she screams again, turning into Loki’s chest.  She pushes her face in his armor, hiding in the leather of his long coat.  Her hands fist against his chest and she can’t catch her breath.

Her body doesn’t really hurt anymore.  She’s too scared to pay attention to the pain.

With arms tightly griping her, he drags her into a jet.  They collapse on a bench seat.

“Go,” snaps Loki.

She shakes against him, completely falling apart in his arms.  Squeezing her eyes closed, she tries not to be sick as the sensation of takeoff threatens to overwhelm her stomach.

“You need not have seen the beast,” comments Loki with mild annoyance.  He strokes her hair.  “When will you learn to do as I say, Eleanor?”

She lets out a whimper, and then the tears come.  She shakes and sobs, her brain still struggling to process all the revelations of the past few months.  Fear chokes her, but still she clutches to the thing that scares her most for comfort.

He gently takes her face in his hands, coaxing her to look up at him.  She finds his eyes and calms somewhat as he wipes blood and tears from her cheeks with his fingertips.  “This is the result of your disobedience, Eleanor,” he says.  “With great ease I could have spared you that.  You will do as I say.  Understand?”

Ellie nods, but doesn’t really comprehend his words.  She just wants to be wrapped up in his arms again, even if the safety she feels is an illusion.

“You look terrible,” she croaks out.  And it’s true.  His skin is pale and drawn.  The dark bags under his eyes are even more pronounced, as are the hallows of his cheeks.  He looks almost grey in the shifting light of the jet.

He just sighs and pulls her into his lap.  She closes her eyes, but is does nothing to stop her tears.

“Sleep, Eleanor.  Have you slept since I left you?”

She shakes her head and feels completely pathetic.

“Sleep.”  When he murmurs the word this time it seems like a spell, and she falls asleep with her head against his shoulder, for the first time in what feels like weeks.

 


	11. Dull Creatures

“Loki.”  The name is whimpered into his neck as Ellie slowly regains consciousness.  She woke up briefly when she was carried from the jet to the van that awaited them, but Loki resettled her against his side and she quickly fell asleep again. 

This is a very bad time for a nap, but she can’t seem to help herself.

The movement of her body has the cadence of walking, but her legs do nothing but sway slightly.  He’s carrying her and her arms hold his neck a little tighter at the realization.

“I get what Tony Stark was talking about,” she murmurs into his skin.  He tenses slightly, but keeps moving.  Ellie can’t find it in her to open her eyes.  “Enormous green rage monster.”

Loki chuckles.  “The beast truly terrified you, did he not?  Earlier you accused me of jealousy, and now I readily admit it.  You do not fear me in this way.”

Ellie has a difficult time decoding his words.  Her brain remains fuzzy.

“Did you drug me?” she says, slurring.

“I would never stoop to such crude Midgardian tactics,” he mutters, obviously annoyed.  “You were in desperate need of sleep and I provided this for you.”

“Magic.”

“Magic,” he repeats.  “You are awfully boisterous on this, the day I conquer earth.”

That wakes her right up.  She jerks in his arms and he is forced to shift his grip to keep from dropping her.  The movement reminds her of just how battered her body is after the madness of the floating fucking fortress.  Ellie cries out, thoroughly alarming her former – wait no – her _current_ captor.

“Eleanor, what troubles you?” he demands.  Through the pain, she attempts to take in her surroundings.  All she can make out is yet another hallway lit by fluorescent lights.  She could be back in the sky, for all she knows. 

_Goddamn, I miss the sun._

“The thought of you trying to take over the world physically hurts,” she mutters.

Ellie whimpers in pain once more when he abruptly turns and kicks open a door.  It appears to be some sort of janitorial storage closet with a chair in one corner and a cot in the other.

“This will do,” he whispers.

“What in the actual fuck?”

So gently it almost makes her forget all about the sharp pain in her ribs, he sets her down on the cot.  She bites the side of her cheek to keep from crying out again, but a pained whimper escapes her sealed lips anyway.

“Eleanor,” he says, tugging at the zipper of her SHIELD jacket with the collar that reminds her of Loki’s trench.  She bats his hands away.

“I don’t want you to unleash your army on earth,” she mutters as if this was formerly unclear.  “That’s what these sounds mean.”

“Silence,” he demands.  “I did not anticipate a simple sleeping spell leaving you so disoriented and talkative.”

“I’m not disoriented.”

“Just talkative, then.”

His hands are back on the zipper, and he tugs it down in one hard yank, and Ellie cries out again.  Loki’s eyes narrow and he lowers his face to hers.

“What is this, Eleanor?”

She shrugs.

“Why do you never speak when I require it of you?”  The anger in his voice makes her jump and then she winces again, but when he reaches for the hem of her white tank top, she does nothing so stop him.

When he pulls up the fabric, exposing the angry purple bruises on her ribs, he lets out a growl.  Ellie glances down and then wishes she didn’t. 

“The beast?” he whispers.

“No,” she replies, equally quiet.  “I slid down a hallway when the floating fortress started to fall.  Hit a door, ribs first apparently.”

“I will rectify this.  I will not have you hurt.”

“It’s okay,” she says, pushing her hand through his dark hair.  “I’ll be okay.  I’m just never going to move again.”

He helps her lie back on the cot, knelling beside her head.  She watches him watch her for a long moment, thinking about how beautiful he is.  Maybe the little spell of his does have her disoriented because he is about to unleash an alien army on an unsuspecting populace, but she can’t stop thinking how beautiful and broken he is.

And he’s adopted.  Gods do adoption.

When he kisses her suddenly, it steals her breath. Her hand goes back to his hair as a means to keep him right here, his lips moving against hers forever.  There is no way for him to open a portal and lead an army if he is kissing her forever, right? 

But then she parts her lips and his tongue is in her mouth and she forgets all about aliens and this horrible person that she just can’t seem to get enough of.

It is slow and deep and hard and so painfully desperate, it does things to Ellie’s heart.  Nothing has done anything to Ellie’s heart in a long time, but something about his kiss makes her cry.

She gets greedy, attempting to hold him closer and pull him onto the cot, but the movement has pain shooting through her ribs once more.

“Fuck,” she mutters with a wince. 

Loki lets out a growl, but when he pushes her fly away hair off her face, his touch remains gentle.

“I know nothing of healing Midgardians,” he mutters, sounding frustrated.

“But… never mind.”

“Eleanor.”

She shakes her head.

“Eleanor!”

“But I might not be Midgardian.  Isn’t that why you sucked me into this scary world of gods and glow sticks and mind control?” she whispers, unable to look at him.

With slow, deliberate movements Loki places his hand over the ugly bruising.  At first it hurts, and she attempts to roll away from him, but he holds her still.  Warmth spreads through her aching frame, stealing her pain.  Everything goes tingly and a nervous giggle bubbles out of her throat.

“You are not completely healed, but it will do for now.  Does it pain you still?”

She shakes her head, watching him with awe. 

He kisses the corner of her mouth, much like she did on their first meeting, when she got him back to her dinky little apartment. This time when a sob leaves her mouth, it is from a different kind of pain all together.

“I must depart.  I’ve lingered too long.”

“Where are we?” she asks, sitting up slightly.  Her head is clear and suddenly she is desperate to keep him locked away in this janitor closet with her.  Loki pushes her shoulders back into the thin mattress.

“New York.”

“City!” she shrieks, sitting back up.  He pushes her right back down. She tries to sit up again, but her back is stuck to the cot, much like her hands against and the headboard only a few days ago. “You can’t!  There are so many people.  Innocent people are going to die.  It will be total chaos!”

Loki stands, grinning down at her.  His eyes are mad, utterly and totally mad.  “Oh, yes,” he whispers as nothing could possible give him greater pleasure.  “Total chaos.”

He turns on his heel, leaving Eleanor to struggle against the mattress. 

“Loki!” she screams.

“Do rest up, my sweet songbird,” he says, turning his head slightly when he gets to the door.  “You will need your strength to enter the glorious new world at my side.”

“Loki!”

And then he’s gone.

Ellie struggles and struggles until her ribs hurt once more, and then Ellie can do nothing but cry and cry.

* * *

 

Explosions wrack the building and little bits of dust fall on Ellie.  It feels like the whole world is crumbling around her, and she just lies there, sobbing and useless.  She jumps every time something loud and ominous rattles around outside and tries to calm down.  Terror and panic wrack her body, although it is not her personal safety that concerns her. 

Loki doesn’t want her dead.  She trusts that, although she trusts nothing else.  He’s stashed her somewhere safe, fucking magically crazy glued her to a mattress to keep her here.

She struggles again, as frustrated as she is panicked, but the magic stickiness is gone because when she moves this time she rolls right off the cot.  She lands on the concrete floor with a dull thump, and she curls into a ball, pain once again radiating from her ribs.

“Fuck, Loki,” she mutters, pushing herself up off the floor.  Rubbing her still bruised ribs, she staggers to the door.  She rests her head against the surface, totally unsurprised to find it locked.  Rhythmically, she hits her forehead against the door, and although she is probably in yet another underground bunker, Ellie swears she can hear screams accompanying the resonating booms that shake the foundations of whatever building he’s stored her in this time.

She has to do something, help somehow.  Ellie feels responsible, as if her interaction with the God of Lies enabled him, allowed him to bring his army here.  He needed something from her, be it voice or body, and she gave willingly and now he’ll ruin everything. 

And she has to at least try to stop him, doesn’t she?

It takes very little time for Ellie to locate a screwdriver and even less to remove the doorknob.  Just like that, she’s free from her third prison in as many months. 

She smirks for a moment, glad to have defeated a god in this one little way.  He thinks of everything he can do with magic, but fails to take into account simple human ingenuity.

Pausing in the doorway for a moment to gather her meager strength, she leaves her safe little hole in the wall.  She doesn’t want safe. 

If all of humanity is to burn at Loki’s hand, then she’ll burn with it, mortal or not.  And if the world is to end, then she will be there to watch at the very least.

She’s no solider.  She’s no hero, but maybe she can play some role, even if she only manages to distract Loki for a few seconds, long enough for one of the good guys to save the world.

She finds stairs, and follows the sounds of war up until she wanders into a deserted lobby.  It is beautifully decorated, although it appears to be still under construction.  She turns towards the wall of windows, and for one moment the sun seems beautiful to her, but it becomes impossible to ignore the piles of rubble and flame.

A pair of screeching armored aliens flies by the window on hovering craft, shooting explosive plumes of energy that cause a car to overturn, and Ellie stumbles back slightly.  Again, there is a very big difference between knowing a thing and seeing the reality.

Aliens.  An alien invasion.

They seem to call out to each other and the noise is truly horrible.  Accompanying their war cries is the sound of more craft whizzing by.  Ellie briefly considers going outside to get her bearings, but despite her decision to watch the world burn, she is not suicidal.

Well, not anymore.

They seem to be coming from the sky, this army of Loki’s, and so Eleanor seeks out the elevator.  She pauses, reading the plague that reads STARK TOWER, before pushing the up button, but there appears to be no power.  She tries again, still feeling shaky on her feet, but she gets nothing.

Sighing heavily, she takes to the stairs.

It is a very long way up, and Ellie lives each moment in fear that one of the near by explosions will bring the whole building down, and her with it. 

Somehow she makes it, and she cries a little in relief when she see there are no more stairs.  She pushes open the door and steps into a luxurious pent house bar with slate walls and polished stone floors.  The windows are shattered, and Ellie wanders out of the staircase in a sort of daze.

Alien aircraft come from the sky in concentrated numbers and then disperse throughout the city. It feels like a dream and Ellie once more disregards her own safety to walk out the balcony and gape at the sight before her.

There is fire and screaming, the cries both alien and human. She takes in crumbling buildings and violence so horrible it is beyond Ellie’s comprehension, but her skin still seems to glow in appreciation of being in the sun for the first time in months.

Mouth hanging open and eyes wide, Ellie looks up to see a broad beam of blue light shooting up to the heavens from the very stop of Stark Tower, just above penthouse bar area.  It is generated from whirling machine and there is the portal.  The beam opens a gaping hole in earth’s atmosphere, and beyond it Ellie can see the darkness of space and the brightness of foreign stars.

More aliens on hovering craft flicker down through the beam and nothing feels real anymore.

A thump and a grunt, the sounds of hand-to-hand combat, pull Ellie back into the reality of the moment.  She could get lost out here in the sun, just staring at the horrible and awesome sight above her, but there is Loki off to her right on an elevated platform, struggling with his adoptive brother.

She cranes her neck to stare at them on the roof, green cape wrapped around red cape.  For a moment they pause, almost as if they are embracing but Loki stabs Thor who crumples in pain and stagers back.  The fighting resumes until Loki rolls off the roof.  Her heart stops for a moment before she sees him fly away on the back of one of those alien glider things.

She retreats back inside, leaning on an exposed beam and hating that she feels relief that Thor didn’t manage to kill the God of Lies, the would be ruler of this realm.

“Lady Eleanor!” Thor shouts, making her jump.  She might be a little bit in shock here.  “Back inside.  This is no place for you.”

And then he lifts his hammer high above her head.  Lightening crackles and somehow Thor is gone, flying away in a cloud of thunder.

How many impossible things is she going to witness before one of those screeching aliens blasts her with the glowing energy that’s already caused so much destruction?

Retreating back inside, she wonders fleeting how Loki would react if his army takes her life.

Ellie loiters by the bar and watches the beginning of the end of the world, dazed once more.  She came up here with a purpose, trying to find a way to help the good guys, but seeing the destruction below her and the mass of aliens above her, Ellie sees her own extreme folly.

She goes back to staring at the portal.  Nothing the good guys do down here will matter at all if the aliens keep pouring out of the sky.  And twenty feet away, on the balcony, is Loki’s scepter.  Even above the noises of chaos, she can here it hum.

She wonders if it’s the key to controlling the alien army.

Her eyes scan the room for another staircase, trying to figure out a way to get up to the portal when there is yet another explosion, followed by a thunk, and the sounds shattering glass.  She is somewhat shocked to see Loki roll on by, coming to a stop when he hits the stone wall opposite her position by the bar.

He scrambles to his feet, looking distinctly worse for wear.  The leather peaking through his golden armor is singed while the dark bags are even more pronounced under his pale eyes.  The helmet is missing and he looks frantic now.

Ellie regards him with wide, horrified eyes, and he stares back at her with a similar expression.  He opens his mouth to speak, but is distracted when the enormous green rage monster barrels into the room, roaring as he comes to a stop between Ellie and Loki.  Ellie stares in terror at the bulging muscles of its back.

Of everything she’s seen, something about the beast in front of her scares Ellie the most.  Her limbs quake, and she let’s out an involuntary scream, before she covers her mouth with her hands.

The muscles in his neck twitch as he slowly begins to turn around.  Ellie tries to back away, but she bumps into the bar, causing a glass tumbler to shatter at her feet.

“Enough!” Loki screams, bringing the attention of the hulking green monster back to himself as Ellie watches, dumbfounded.  The God of Lies spares her a quick look before glaring up at the monster between them.  Ellie takes the moment to drop to the ground, hiding against the side of the bar, out of sight of the beast.

“You are, all of you, beneath me!” screams Loki.  “I am a god, you dull creature. And will not be bullied by—“

The beast snags Loki by the ankle and progresses to smash him into the hard floor, repeatedly.  Ellie covers her mouth and bites the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming as she watches Loki’s body get thrown around as if he is a rag doll.  Concrete and stone fly out around the god until the beast leaves him in Loki-shaped hole in the floor.

With a final growl the beast turns away.  “Puny god,” he says over his shoulder.

Ellie doesn’t move for a full five minutes, her eyes fixed on his motionless body.  She is crying again and her heart pounds in her ears.  It’s drowns out the sounds of the fighting around them.

She’ll never get the image of this out of her head, they way he was thrown around and beat into the ground as if he were nothing at all.

From her angle crouched on the floor with her hands covering her mouth, she can really only see his profile and his feet sticking up out of the hole in the floor.

The whimper he lets out is the sweetest music, and it serves to bring her out of her state of terrorized shock. Ellie is a little stunned to realize that she doesn’t want him to die.

She glances out to the balcony to see his scepter is gone and she gives up on any dream of getting to the portal and helping the good guys.  Ellie is not a good guy.  She is weak and useless and everything happening up there is too much.  This is all just too terribly much.

With great caution, Ellie crawls over to Loki’s hole.  She sits next to him, crossing her legs under her as she watches his battered face.  He is bruised and bloody, his whole body held totally still.  Slowly, his bright eyes open.  He looks so hopelessly defeated and lost she almost feels for him, but one glance out the window removes all her sympathy for the injured god.

She hopes she can take his current state as a sign that the good guys are winning.

Loki grunts as he reaches out to take her hand.  Ellie watches the smoke rise from the city and lets him hold it for a moment before snatching it away. 

“You just want my skin to magically recharge your energy so you can go back to leading your army,” she mutters, bitterness and exhaustion lacing her tone.   Ellie brings her knees to her chin and hugs her legs, rocking slightly as she stares outside.

It remains unclear to her if the whole energy recharge thing is an actual physical power up or a mental sensation.  She thinks it’s the later.  Somehow she brought Loki comfort with her touch, but she hopes its good old fashion connection, not magic.

Loki stays still for a long moment before he reaches out once again.  His hand finds its way on to her thigh, the fabric of her pants preventing skin to skin contact.  Although he is too weak to squeeze her, his hand just rests there.  Ellie scoots a little closer, hating that the contact provides her comfort as well.

“What did you do, Loki?” she whispers, shaking slightly.  She wonders if it’s possible to be in shock for three months.  Sure feels that way.

“Failed,” he murmurs.  “It seems to be what I always do.  I failed.”  Every word is absolutely laced with agony, but New York City is crumbling around them and it’s his fault, so she finds little sympathy left over the devil.  She’s glad he isn’t dead, that’s it. “I failed you.”

Ellie watches as Tony Stark flies straight up into the sky as Iron Man with what looks like a missile against his back.  A very large missile.  An end of the world kind of missile, or at least the end of them.

She tenses and scoots a little closer to Loki.  If these are to be her last moments of life than she’ll seek comfort where ever she can get it, even if it’s a little closer to the god responsible for all this destruction.

For a moment she considers stepping outside to watch the end of the world, but she’d rather see something beautiful.  Loki is beautiful.  Even battered and bloody and defeated, Loki is beautiful.

“Beautiful and horrible,” she murmurs, turning to study him.

He wheezes slightly.  “The end?” he asks although speaking is remains painful.

“No, that’s just horrible.”

His eyes are green again and she shifts as close to his broken body as possible without sitting on him.  Their fingers lace together in her lap.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” she asks.

“It all hurts, Eleanor.”

Ellie starts to sing an old hymn, her Christian upbringing kicking in for her last moments. Loki holds her hand a little tighter and they wait patiently for the end.

Except it doesn’t come. 

The aliens below give out a pained, mournful shriek before everything goes silent and still.  Ellie stops singing as Tony Stark’s lifeless body drops from the sky and falls out of sight.  A crash echoes beneath them.

“Eleanor,” Loki croaks out, but she doesn’t need his prompting to get on her feet and walk out to the balcony.  He whimpers again when she leaves his side, but she doesn’t look back as she gets outside and squints into the sky.

“The portal’s closed,” she tells him in a flat, dead voice.  “You really did fail.”  When she speaks this time, her voice breaks with relief. 

Ellie closes her eyes and tilts her face towards the sun, reveling in the warmth on her skin and the brightness behind her eyelids. She doesn’t open her eyes again until she hears the Avengers assembling on the balcony beside her.

Tony Stark, leaning heavily on Thor and missing his helmet, gives her a rueful grin, while Loki’s adoptive brother nods at her.  She tries not to cower in fear at the sight of the enormous green rage monster, but fails.  The rest ignore her as they move to surround the fallen God of Lies.

She trails behind, loitering in the entryway.  Broken glass crunches beneath her boots.  She still wears her SHIELD attire, but her time in her second prison feels like years and years ago.

For a brief moment it looks like they are going to execute him right there as he struggles to sit up.  Weapons are raised against him, the Hawk with his arrows, Agent Romanoff with the scepter, but no one makes any move to attack.

Loki’s gaze searches beyond earth’s mightiest heroes, resting on her a moment.  He seems to plead with her, but for what she couldn’t say.  She remains still as a statue, blank and emotionless. 

Later this all might sink in it, but right now she’ll enjoy the numbness.  She’ll stay unfeeling as long as possible.

Loki fails to find what he searches for.  He pulls on the mask as he gazes back at the Avengers.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he murmurs, wincing slightly,  “I’ll have that drink now.” He gives them a pained grin, as if his failure is all a big joke.  As if none of it really mattered at all.  His expression is the facial equivalent of “oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.”

No one acknowledges his request, but no weapons are lowered either. 

Ellie stumbles slightly, her knees giving out.  She catches herself on the frame of a busted out window and a jagged, leftover shard of glass slices open her hand.  She barely feels it as she looks around for a place to sit. 

There is nothing, except for stairs just behind Loki’s hole.  She stumbles over and collapses next to the god who watches her with concern.  Wincing all the while, he reaches out for her hand, wrapping it in a green scarf he pulls from somewhere in the depths of his armor.  She lets him fuss, even though he is the one who should be dead, given the beating his just received.

“Well, that’s fucking surreal,” mutters Iron Man.

Ellie jumps and glances up, remembering their presence.  All six good guys stare at her as if she’s totally lost her mind.  It’s happened before, but Ellie does not want a repeat of that whole experience so she tries to snap out of it.

“Hey, guys,” she mumbles.  “Good job.  I’m glad you didn’t die.”

They just continue to stare for a moment before Thor lets out a big belly laugh.  The sound has Ellie jumping again, but then a couple of the other Avengers chuckle.  The enormous green rage monster roars, thoroughly terrifying Ellie once more.  She shuffles back away from it, and the beast looks at her with something that might be guilt.

“Do you like shawarma, Barbara Streisand?”  Tony Stark asks.

Before Ellie can figure out what the hell he’s talking about and respond, the ruined penthouse bar is swarming with SHIELD commandos.  Ellie loses sight of Loki in the activity, just before she’s escorted to her latest prison.


	12. Prison the First, Prison the Third

The room is luxurious with its plush carpet, voice-activated black out curtains, and large.  The steam shower and tub with jets are equally appealing.  It is a room designed for immense comfort, a means for the occupant to thoroughly relax, to blot out the day and sleep forever.  With the locked door it proves to be the nicest and least frightening of all her recent prisons, but Ellie is unable to do anything but stare out the window at the sun, watching the smoke rise from the ruble filed streets of New York.

A few drops of liquid fall near the zipper of her SHIELD jacket, and it takes Ellie a moment to realize that the droplets are tears.  Her tears.  She touches her face and blinks when her fingertips come away wet.

An insane urge to taste her own tears, the way Loki always does, makes her laugh out loud. It takes very little time for her laughter to turn to sobs.  They wrack her whole frame, causing pain to shoot from her ribs.  Doubling over and trying to breathe through the hurt and sorrow, Ellie blindly stumbles towards the luxurious, pale blue bed. 

She curls up on her side and cries. 

In the eight years since she left her fake home, Ellie cannot recall crying once until she met Loki.  Not once in her lonely, apathetic new life did she feel enough to cry like this, but that was a time when she understood the world around her.  It was before gods and rage monsters and alien invasions.  She’s seen things and done things and it is all different now.

Ellie runs out of tears, but her body keeps shaking as she stares out the window at the sunshine.

* * *

 

A doctor comes.  He whispers from the doorway as if he doesn’t want to wake her and oh how she wishes sleep were a possibility but when she tries images of unfathomable green beasts, shrieking aliens, and Loki’s cruel smile flicker behind her eyelids.

The doctor is awkward when Ellie rolls over to indicate that no, she is not sleeping.  She cannot sleep.  He is quite handsome, with his boyish face and dirty blond hair, but he is looking at her with pity and Ellie can’t stand that.  With slow, stiff movements, she sits up and lets her feet dangle over the side of the bed.

She winces as he frets over the gash in her hand before stitching it up.  The cuts on her face, ones she didn’t even know were there, are cleaned.  As he rolls up her shirt to examine her ribs, Ellie wonders how he knew she even suffered this particular injury.  She failed to tell anyone associated with SHEILD.

They are bruised, not broken.  Loki’s doing, no doubt, and the doctor informs her that in three weeks time she will be “good as new.”

She scoffs at this.

In three weeks her body will completely heal, but nothing will ever be the same again.  Bruised ribs will be the least of her worries.

Again, how does SHIELD know about this injury at all?  It makes her nervous, what they know.

The doctor recommends rest and food.  She could stand to gain a few pounds, or so he says.

And then he is brandishing a needle, stating that a simple blood sample will conclude her check up.

Ellie scrambles away from the good doctor, her back hitting the headboard as she scowls at the SHIELD agent.  For a moment there the doctor was so awkward, she forgot that these are the good guys who did save the world, but really do not seem to care much for Ellie.

Plus there was the whole nuke that came right from this same elusive agency, if the rantings of a dazed Iron Man are to be taken as truth.

“Why?” she demands, trying to sound confident and in control.  Really, she is just so very tired.

“Standard protocol,” he stutters, looking bashful now.

“No,” Ellie says simply. 

“But—“

“I said no.”

He gives her a long, measured look before nodding once and turning to leave her be.

Ellie doesn’t relax until she hears the lock on her prison.  At least the tears have stopped.

* * *

 

Thor is the first familiar face she sees for a full day after the doctor.  The golden God of Thunder seems to have a fondness for Eleanor, or maybe more accurately he feels responsible for her.

She certainly is short on allies in SHIELD, even more so given her suspect appearance on the top of Stark Tower mid battle.  Her now obvious and bizarre connection to the hated would be ruler of earth has put her whole future in jeopardy. 

Even if the pity given to her by Thor makes her want to smack him and even if that annoying way he addresses her as if she is on her death bed makes her blood boil, Ellie needs any advocate she can get.

The spy organization seems to exist outside the bounds and laws of society.  It would be so very easy for them to make her disappear.  She has no family, no real human connections, no one out in the real world to miss her and the few who once did surely stopped months ago.

But Thor seems to like her.

“How fair you, Lady Eleanor?” he murmurs, closing the door behind him as he enters her cell.  She shuffles into a seated position on the bed as he collapses into a chair.  He looks as exhausted as she feels, but clean.  At least he’s showered.  Ellie hasn’t even summoned the energy for that yet.

She stinks and showers were one of the first things to go when she really lost her marbles last time.  As soon as the big guy leaves she will be showering.  It seems like a reasonable goal at this point in her life.

“I’m pretty freaked out, to be honest,” she confesses.  “He told me what he is, told me what would happen, but I didn’t really believe it.  I think I’m in shock.”

Speaking so much during a time of such stress is hard for Eleanor, but she needs Thor to understand her position.  And she needs Thor to tell her all about Loki’s past because she wants to know, needs to know.

Everything.

“You survived your first battle bravely,” he replies.  “Given time you will recover fully.”

“First and hopefully last,” she mutters.

Thor laughs.  “I remember my first battle well, but at its end I craved another immediately.  For you, last would be best.”

“Hey, I’m a fucking warrior.” 

“Of this I have no doubt, but your weapon is not the sword, I am thinking.”

She has no idea what that means and she gets quiet.

“I am deeply sorry that my brother involved you,” Thor says, sounding as though he genuinely means it.  Ellie forgives him for so casually throwing out Loki’s status as adopted while on the floating fucking fortress.

“Me too,” she murmurs.  Ellie studies her lap and tries not to cry.  “Although, he didn’t want me anywhere near the city and when plans changed he locked me in the basement.  He didn’t want me to see this.  Actually, he’s probably pretty pissed that I left that room at all.”

“And why did you leave the safety of the room?”

“I wanted to help.”  She shakes her head at her own folly.  “I thought maybe I could distract him, help you guys that way.  Stupid, I know.  How could I possibly help?”

“Not stupid,” Thor insists.  “Brave.”

She smiles at him even if she doesn’t feel anywhere near brave.  She hasn’t even been able to face the fucking _shower_.

“What are you?” he asks, squinting at her.  “To my brother? Lady Romanoff believes he cares for you a great deal.”

“What do you think?” she asks, not knowing what to say.

“I am inclined to agree, but I would still like you to answer, if it please my lady.”

His fancy talk makes her giggle, but the sound gets somewhat hysterical and Ellie needs a minute to calm down.

“I wish I knew,” she finally answers.  “My voice is important to him, but he doesn’t care for me.  I think he sees me as some sort of pet that he would prefer to keep but if I was gone he wouldn’t notice after a moment of pouting.”

Thor looks skeptical.  “Yet you say he told you what he is?”

“What?” she asks, blinking in confusion.  “A god, you mean?”

“Ah,” Thor says with a heavy sigh.  He slumps down in his easy chair, suddenly so much more exhausted.  “He did not.”

“What is he?” Ellie whispers, unsure if she really wants to know now that the moment is here.  “What happened to him?”

_Teeth rotting from his skull.  Skin flayed from his bone._

“Perhaps we should save this tale for a fresh day,” Thor says.  “Your utter exhaustion is apparent, Lady Eleanor.”

“I can’t sleep,” she replies.  “If you need to rest that’s fine, but either way I can’t sleep.”

The thunder god looks at her for a long moment. Ellie sees his strength and depth as he openly measures her.

“Very well,” Thor says, stretching his long legs out in front of him.  It feels like he is about to tell her a bedtime story, but she does not lie down and close her eyes.  This tale will not help her sleep and is likely to add to her nightmares.

“Loki and I were raised as brother, princes of Asgard, sons of Odin Allfather, sovereign of the Realm Eternal.” 

Ellie listens enraptured by the images Thor creates as he describes his home and his childhood.  He is pained as he recalls memories of a young, carefree, mischievous Loki.  According to Thor, they were not only brothers but best friends.  There are details the God of Thunder skims and he touches only briefly on how their fellow children treated an alarmingly magical little Loki.  Overall, the picture painted by Thor is suspiciously rosy.

“We were raised to rule,” Thor says.  “But in the end, as the older and more capable brother, I was crowed successor to the Allfather.”

He goes on to describe the events that occurred well over a year ago, leading to Loki’s downfall. 

Ellie learns of yet another kind of alien, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim.

When Thor details how Loki discovered his true origins, Ellie cries.  The story is so familiar, but so much worse than her own personal saga.  He was lied to for millennia and always felt different, only to find out that he is the very thing he was raised to hate.

Yeah, that would certainly fuck up anyone.

But there is more to the story.  Thor talks of Loki’s attempted genocide and the final showdown between brothers that ended with Loki’s apparent suicide.  Ellie’s insides twist up because she’s been right there, knows what it’s like to need to end the pain. 

“What happened since, I cannot say,” Thor says, shedding a tear. 

“Teeth rotting from his skull, skin flayed from his bone,” Ellie whispers.

“Did you speak, Lady Eleanor?”

She shakes her head.

“My joy that he lives is at odds with my anger at his destruction here,” he continues, face falling into his hands.  “How can I possibly want him to live after all he has done?” 

“He kidnapped me, tried to brainwash me, left me alone in a bunker, and I’m glad he’s not dead,” Ellie admits. 

Thor’s head jerks up as if he’s forgotten that she is here with him. Maybe the thunder god needed to say the words as much as she needed to hear them.  He does certainly seem relieved if not exhausted now that he’s finished his tale.

“It’s okay to want him to stay alive,” Ellie murmurs, hoping it’s true.

“He has sought my death on numerous occasions,” Thor says.  “But he remains my brother.”

This simple statement leaves Eleanor reeling.  She thinks of Laura, her fake big sister.

Would Laura still call Ellie her sister?

It is a question that haunts her long after Thor leaves, along with the rest of it.

* * *

 

“They acted like a couple,” Barton muses, staring out the window down into the streets of New York.  Director Fury paces around, while Ellie sits at the far side of the desk, facing Natasha Romanoff.  Thor stands motionless by the door, arms crossed over his massive chest.  He watches Ellie contemplatively and she feels embarrassed, after their earlier conversation.

“They bickered about French Toast,” continues the Hawk.  “He made her smile, but then got all huffy when she wanted to make breakfast for Selvig and me.  But she won and even convinced him to let us sit with them.”

Ellie scowls intently at Loki’s former minion.  New York is still reeling from an alien attack two days ago, and these four SHIELD associates have nothing better to do than speak about her as if she isn’t in the fucking room.

At this point, what does it matter if Ellie cooked breakfast for an imprisoned megalomaniac and then shared it with his brainwashed minions?

And his brother won’t stop staring at her.  Probably because of their goddamn heart to heart.

“He referred to her as his lady at one point,” Barton continues, making her wince at the memory.  “As she cooked he sort of… followed her around, stayed close to her.  It was pretty weirdly domestic.  Loki is one possessive bastard and he forbid us from even looking at her.  And she was wearing some really revealing nightwear.”

Ellie wishes for Loki’s magic.  It would be lovely to cause the Hawk pain simply using the power of her mind, assuming Loki can manage that at all.  Director Fury stops pacing to loom over Ellie.  She’d like to hurt him with her mind too.

“Oh,” says Barton.  “And he was extremely concerned with her health.  Thought she was too skinny.”

“She is too skinny,” adds Agent Romanoff. 

Ellie wants to hurt everyone with the power of her mind. 

Except Thor.  She is not predisposed to liking perfect, fake big siblings, but she begrudgingly does not despise Thor.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Ellie demands, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the lot of them. “I was with him for three months.  I wasn’t exactly comfortable around him, but it was familiar, okay?  Would you prefer I was a cowering mess for ninety days?  Would that be acceptable behavior for SHIELD? I survived, okay.  I just… survived.”

The three are silent for a moment, obviously surprised to hear her speak so much at once.

“To be perfectly honest, Miss Tate,” says Fury, crowding her with his height, “we are really just trying to figure out what to do with you.”

Ellie nods, because at least that’s truth.  She’s well aware of the fact that she knows too much and that’s a real big problem for an organization like SHEILD.

“Look,” she says, thinking about the blood sample they so desperately tried to slip in to her little medical exam.  “I slept with him, okay?  Those last few days I was alone with him… I slept with him. A lot.  I was lonely and confused and terrified, and he was right there, looking the way he looks, just talking about taking over the world without actually doing it yet.  Can you really blame me for coping in anyway I could?  I was alone with him for three months and I handled it by getting far too close to him, but I never wanted it to be like this.  I begged him to change his mind, and even if it’s not much, it was all I could do at the time.  Will SHEILD really punish me for surviving my imprisonment the best way I knew how?”

Ellie can feel Thor smiling at her, but she refuses to look at him.  She refuses to look at anyone, choosing instead to focus on the shiny surface of the wooden desk.

“I’m not going to do something crazy.  I’m not going to try to let him out and I’m not going to tell anybody any of this shit if you ever get around to finally reinstating my freedom,” she whispers.

Fury sighs and takes the seat next to Natasha.  “You’re not our prisoner here, Miss Tate.”

She just looks at him, pleased when he shuffles uncomfortably under her gaze because the lock on her room says otherwise.

“Okay,” says the director, serious once more.  “I think we can help each other out here.”

“With Loki?” she asks, frowning.

“Maybe with Loki,” says Fury.  “It would be great if you could get a little info out of him but not what we’re talking about now.”

Ellie stares blankly, having no idea where they are going with this.

“There are reasons that Loki was unable to control you.”  Director Fury’s voice is gentle and it is deeply unsettling.  Ellie feels her stomach bottom out.  This is a subject she has avoided thinking on.  Of all the horrors that flicker through her sleep deprived brain, this is the most baffling and the one she is studiously ignoring.

Three months ago she was just a girl.  Not only do gods from alien realms in outer space exist, but she might be one of them and it freaks her the fuck out.

Did her lying fake parents know about this possibility?

Nope, not going there.

“Like him, we think you might not be totally human,” Fury continues.

Ellie closes her eyes and attempts to stay calm.  “That’s why you wanted my blood,” she murmurs.

Fury looks a little surprised to hear her piece this together, but he doesn’t deny it. 

“You want to make me your little lab monkey,” she says.  “You want to lock me up and study me.”

“It’s not like that,” snaps Fury, good eye narrowing in anger. “We want to help you learn about yourself, and in turn learn from you.  You wouldn’t be a goddamn prisoner and you wouldn’t be forced to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Ellie snorts, skeptical.

“It is truth, Lady Eleanor,” Thor insists.  “I personally guarantee your safety.”

“You live on a different planet,” she mutters.

“Realm,” he corrects.

Ellie just huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and slouching in her seat.

“I guarantee it, too,” says Romanoff.

“Likewise,” says Barton.

Their assurances do very little to ease her fears.

“We’d find you a job with SHIELD, set you up with a place of your own, help you get a life together.  Thor would assist with determining your personal history,” Fury explains. 

“Why?” Ellie whispers, trying not to cry.  “Why does SHEILD give a fuck about me?  Whatever I am.”

“We’re an intelligence agency, Miss Tate,” he says.  “The more we know about the crazy new things in the universe, the better we can keep the people of Earth safe.  And you’re right.  You do know too much to just disappear. I need you to seriously consider this.  After everything you’ve been through, can you really see yourself going back to your old life as if none of it happened?”

No, she really fucking can’t.

“Think about it.”

Ellie nods absently.

“I shall escort Lady Eleanor back to her chambers.  There will be much time to further this discussion,” Thor booms, his tone leaving no room for argument.  A large hand comes down on Ellie shoulder with too much force, and she shuffles away, but gets up to walk out with him anyway.

She doesn’t want to be near these people any longer, but going back to her room to not sleep is horribly unappealing.

“All will be well, Lady Eleanor,” he assures her as she struggles to keep up with his stride.  “Do not fear.”

“Why are we going down?” Ellie asks, frowning at the god beside her as he pushes the wrong elevator button.  “My room is up.”

“Your chambers are not our destination,” he says, regarding her warily.

She stares back blankly for a moment before she gets it.

“Oh, fuck,” she mutters.

* * *

 

“What ails him?” Thor murmurs.

Ellie can’t manage to do more than hug her legs a little closer to her chest.  For the last half hour she’s done nothing but stare at the god on the monitors.  She rocks slightly in her swivel chair.

“I know not,” continues Thor.  “This is no known aliment on Asgard.”

Originally, the guard on duty denied them access to this strange viewing room that sits next to the door of his cell, but the God of Thunder did some yelling and they’ve been left in peace to watch ever since.  

“The Man of Iron, Tony Stark, he referred to my brother’s current state as _withdrawals_.”

Ellie nods.  She characterized him as a sort of drug addict months ago.

The Loki on the screen looks truly miserable and extremely ill.  He sits upright on a metal bench, trying desperately to maintain the persona of the egotistical villain he’s showed the Avengers since Germany, but his skin is grey, his eyes are wild and confused, and his whole body seems to be vibrating.  The image is so clear Ellie can make out every bead of sweat on his forehead.

“An adverse reaction to a loss of the Tesseract’s power,” Thor murmurs.  The blond god is so obviously heartbroken for his adoptive brother.  It makes Ellie wonder if her own fake big sister thinks of her at all.

“What’s going to happen to him?” she asks.

“I will at last bring my brother home,” Thor says, relief evident in his voice.  “The very moment Tony Stark can construct a device to harness the power of the Tesseract to do so.”

“You’ve got to help him, Thor,” she whispers.  “He is wrong and he deserves to be punished, but he’s lost his mind.  He’s _sick_.  You’ve got to help him.”

Despite her words, Ellie doubts that the adoptive brother is really capable of helping Loki.  The blond god very obviously understands nothing about the would-be ruler of earth. 

Ellie understands, and her fake family didn’t help her find her mind, all those years ago.

Still, Thor’s intentions are obviously good.  She wonders if Laura’s intentions were equally good, all those years ago.

“You have much in common with my brother,” Thor says after promising to do all he can for Loki.

“Yeah,” she says.  Ellie still doesn’t really know what she is so she can commiserate with Loki’s rage.  “It’s all pretty weird.”

Thor sighs, frustrated when it becomes apparent that Ellie has nothing to say on the matter.

“He has neither eaten nor slept,” Thor continues.  Ellie has this in common with Loki as well.  “Nor has he uttered a word since informing me of your injury.”

Ellie absently touches her tender ribs.  There is no sharp pain and the bruise is already fading.  She has always healed quickly, but until recently she never thought about it much.  As a child she was never sick, never had to see a doctor besides her fake father for the occasional physical, never broke an arm despite all the trees she fell out of. 

She goes back to watching Loki shake, still in his full armor.  Stupid, proud god.  His body is obviously under immense strain, but still he struggles to appear unaffected.

Suddenly, his frame jerks and he collapses, falling from the bench to the floor with         the clattering sound of metal on concrete. 

Thor is flying out of the viewing room and towards the heavy doors that contain Loki with Ellie close on his heels.  The pair of guards stationed there once again attempts to stop the God of Thunder.

“Let me pass!” booms Thor.

One of the guards places his hand on a pad next to the doors and they slide open a moment later.

Ellie follows Thor, even as the guards glare at her.  The doors shut behind her and she presses her back into them, watching the massive figure of Thor kneel next to his brother.

“Do not touch me!”  What starts as a menacing hiss deteriorates into a hysterical wail as Loki leaps up and scrambles away, pushing himself into the corner of his concrete cell.  “No, no, no!” he chants, eyes wide and terrified and _green_.  He slides to the floor.

“Brother—“

“No, no brother, no anything.”  Loki whimpers, desperately trying to put more space between his body and Thor.  “Make it stop.  I will do what you require.  Make it stop.  I want to rule.  I _want_ to rule, please.”

He is psychotic. 

Ellie is painfully familiar with psychosis, and Loki is seeing things, hearing things, feeling things, far removed from this reality.  The trickster is being tricked by his own mind.

At her very worst, Ellie heard gun shots, tires skidding.  At her worst, her fake mother appeared to be without flesh and muscle, a skeleton only.

“He requires a healer.  What is this sickness?”  Thor is reaching out again, despite the pained sound escaping Loki’s throat.  Ellie can’t stand it, and she tugs on the thunder god’s elbow.  It takes him a moment to notice at all. 

“Thor, give him room,” she says, trying her best to stay calm.  “Back up!”

By some miracle, he actually listens.  Loki calms slightly, but his eyes flick around as if he is seeing something else entirely. 

Ellie puts herself between the two gods.

“It burns,” Loki moans, hands going to his cheeks.  “It burns.”  He starts clawing at his skin, fingernails leaving trails of blood in their wake. He adds to the wounds left by the Hulk.

Thor lets out another cry, but Ellie gets there first.

“Loki,” she says, grabbing his hands.  His whole body freezes as his green eyes lock on hers. 

“Why…” He doesn’t quite get the word out as he squints at her.  “How?”

Ellie holds his hands a little tighter as she crouches by him, a difficult task given the violence of his shaking.

“He’s coming, Eleanor,” Loki says, sounding remarkably sane.  He is calming now, his gaze a little less terrified.  “I failed you and he will come for you for as I have seen it.  Has he already? Are you deceased?  Please do not be deceased.”

“No,” she whispers, squeezing his hands.  He is so cold, much colder than usual. “I am not dead.  I am right here with you.”

“Am I dead?”

She shakes her head and it takes everything to keep the tears at bay.

“I courted death.” A furrow appears between his brows and he looks so young.  And his eyes are green.   “The false one pushes me off the bridge and into death, but instead all I get is the endless time and the Void and pain, pain, pain, and _him,_ ” Loki muses, his calm startling her all the more.

_Teeth rotting in his skull.  Flesh flayed from his bone._

Thor lets out a little whimper behind her, but Loki doesn’t notice.

“It hurts,” he says.  This time Loki is whimpering.  “It _burns_.  Remove it.  Remove it!”  He yanks his hands away to blindly tear at his armor.   “ _Remove it_!”

With clumsy movements, Ellie does her best to rid him of the golden plates, but she has no idea how the intricate armor works.  Thor murmurs instructions, unwilling to scare Loki with his presence once more.  It is a struggle and Loki does nothing to make the task any easier, but eventually she succeeds. 

Loki sighs in relief when she manages to get him out of his long jacket, exposing the black jerkin and green tunic below.

“Eleanor,” he whines as she pushes all the metal away, trying to make room for her body near his.

“Patience,” she says, continuing to toss gold armor away.  He pouts at her.  She’s never seen him pout before.

A moment later she scoots next to him, laying down and using his wadded up coat as a pillow.  He turns, laying his head against her chest.  Loki makes a frustrated sound, and pulls at the zipper of her sweatshirt with shaky hands.  She helps him and he pushes his face into the exposed skin of her neck, sighing again.  He wraps his arms around her, his hold so tight it is almost painful.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs.

“Try to breath as I breath,” she suggests and he does, managing to slow his great, heaving breaths.  “Match my breathing.”

Ellie glances at Thor, but the heartbroken god only stares at his brother, obviously as concerned as she is.

“How did I get here?” Loki whispers.  She can hear his confusion in his voice even if he’s calmed somewhat.

“You were captured by the Avengers, Loki,” she reminds him as gently as possible.  “You’re in Stark Tower.”

“But… the Void?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I don’t know what you mean.”

“He was here.  I saw him, felt him.  Felt the burn.”

“Your brother is here.”  Ellie glances up at Thor. He looks at her with shocked, sad eyes.

“I have no brother,” says Loki. 

Thor buries his face in his palms.

“You are here with me in Stark Tower and Thor is here, too.”

“Another prison for the songbird?”

“For you this time, Loki.”

“I failed.”

“Yes.”

“And this pleases you.”

“Yes.”

“But I failed you.”

He’s said this before but Ellie doesn’t understand.

“You didn’t.”  She hopes it’s true.

“Sing.”

She does for a moment before the exhaustion takes over.  He goes quiet, his breathing calming even as his body continues to shake slightly.   Ellie’s eyes flicker shut and she’s faintly aware of Thor slipping out of the room.  For the first time in days, she sleeps.

They both do

* * *

 

The first thing Ellie becomes aware of as the stirrings of wakefulness penetrate her exhausted mind is the cold, hard surface she sleeps on.  This is not her cozy golden bed, nor is it Loki’s enormous green one.

She shivers slightly, burrowing deeper into a down comforter that surrounds her, pushing her face into the puffiness.

This floor is cold and hard, like some sort of slab.  Jesus, what is Loki up to now?

But then the images of horror come back to her: a giant green rage monster flinging his body through the air, destroyed city blocks and New York on fire, Loki in his helmet soaking up the chaos around him and shaking in her arms.

Her eyes fly open and she sits straight up, totally confused to be wrapped up in a blanket.  There was absolutely no blanket when she dozed off.  How long was she out?  It feels only like a couple of minutes.  She scrambles around, trying to get her head free of the blanket.

She stills when her gaze lands on Loki.  Once more he has pushed himself into a corner.  He sits crouched on his heels across from her, as far from her as is possible in the rectangular room.  She can see the panic in his intense gaze.  He’s losing himself again, and she wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

“How long did we sleep?”

“I slept for fourteen hours, twenty three minutes, and fifty one seconds,” Loki replies in a cold, robotic voice.  Ellie’s eyes go wide and she wonders what goes on the layers of his mind that he knows such a precise number even as he loses it.  “You slept for a total of fifteen hours, fifty six minutes, and four seconds.”

“Wow,” she murmurs.  “Do you feel better?”

Loki cocks his head to the side as he studies her.

“You hate me,” he whispers.  “You _loathe_ me.”

“I want to,” Ellie replies, talking quietly.  “I really want to, but I don’t.  I don’t hate you, Loki.”

“Do not lie,” he hisses, making her flinch.

“I don’t lie,” she murmurs.  “That’s you.”

Letting out a frustrated growl, he buries his face in his palms. The scratch marks are scabbing over.  She wonders how long it took for his bones to fuse back together after the Hulk’s assault.  Ellie wants to reach out for him.  Despite everything he’s done, all the lives he’s ruined and all the people he’s killed, she wants to reach out for him.

But for once she doesn’t.

“Are you even real?” he asks, his voice breaking.

Ellie nods vigorously, unable to find her voice.  He is so lost and she wants to help and she hates that she wants to help, but she knows what it’s like so lost, better than anyone.

“What did you do to me!” he roars suddenly, on his feet.  Although he remains across the room, she jumps and cowers away from him.  “What are you?  Get out of my head!”

“Loki, you can’t get scary or they are going to take me away.  Your adoptive brother is going to take me away,” Ellie says, trying not to cry.  “Thor is going to come take me away.”

“What did you do?” he screams again, eyes dark and threatening.   His hands fist at his sides and his whole body vibrates.  “This… what are you?  What did you do to me?  What spell have you wrought?  Why do I crave your presence in such a fashion?  I need no one, nor will I ever.  No one.”

Thor is in the room putting his body between Ellie and her brother.  “You are becoming hysterical, brother,” he says, pleading for calm.

Loki scowls at Thor, his chest heaving.

“Lady Eleanor,” Thor says, holding out a hand.  She stands and moves towards the exit, but she doesn’t touch the God of Thunder.  Ellie understands that her hand in Thor’s would make Loki loose it even more than he already has.  Thor has no concept of the jealousy and resentment and rage festering in Loki.

“I’ll be back, okay?” she tells him, peaking around Thor’s massive frame.  Loki just continues to scowl.

* * *

 

She goes back the next day and he doesn’t recognize her.  He’s back in the Void, to a place where she wouldn’t follow even if she could, but when he scratches at his face again she is able to calm him after he reopens several of the wounds.

The next day is better.  He seems more himself, but she once more has to remind him of where they are and how they got here.  Still, he just looks so, so sick and he stumbles when he attempts to get up and pace.

Some days he seems like a shaken version of himself, sometimes he is so full of hate she can’t stand to be around him for more than a few minutes, but when he gets truly lost Ellie trying to be there, trying to help him find calm.

And so it goes.

* * *

 

There is a knock on her door and Ellie opens it to see Iron Man leaning against the entrance of her cell. 

She supposes it is more of a room than a cell now that she is in full control of the lock.  Still, if she tried to walk out of this tower SHIELD would have her cuffed and jailed in a matter of seconds.  It doesn’t matter.  She’ll hide here as long as they let her, anything to avoid the brutal reality of the decimated city blocks beyond and the equally ruinous state of her life.

“Craisin?” He extends the bag of dried fruit in offering. 

She slowly shakes her head.  He shrugs, popping a few in his mouth.

“You don’t say a lot,” he observes, stating the obvious.  “But when you sing, people go speechless.   It’s a big voice for a small girl who doesn’t say a lot.  That’s a weird combo.”

“The silence makes me mysterious,” she says.  “You should try it sometime.”

The infamous Iron Man throws his head back as he laughs, eating more dried fruit when he’s done.

“I like you,” he continues.  “You’re a funny girl.  So, is Reindeer Games down there your boyfriend or what?”

She stares at him blankly. 

“The word boyfriend does sound a little absurd.”  Tony Stark gets twitchy under her stern gaze, but still presses on.  “Seriously, are you Queen of the Damned or was it all physical?”

He waggles his eyebrows and slapping him would be so satisfying.  Instead she crosses her arms over her chest and continues to silently stare.   She figured out from day one that her silence makes Tony Stark exceedingly uncomfortable and now he bounces on the balls of his feet, tapping his fingers against the bag of dried fruit in his hands.

Scowling at him is easy.  The man she typically scowls at is much, much taller and this doesn’t even hurt her neck.  She could keep it up for hours.

“SHIELD seems to think you two crazy kids are in love or whatever,” he says.  “They are using you to make Loki talk about the guy really in charge of the Chitauri.”

And he finally has her attention.

“What.” She stands up a little straighter.

“She speaks!” Tony Stark exclaims.  “Craisin?”

She snatches the bag of dried fruit out of his stupid hand, dropping it to the floor and giving it a solid stomping.  He gapes when she picks up the Craisins, shoving the smashed fruit into his chest.

“What,” she says again.

Iron Man blinks and then smirks.

“I _do_ like you,” he says. 

Eleanor growls, reminding herself of Loki for one scary little second.

“Yeah, okay,” says Stark.  “SHIELD is currently threatening lover boy, saying they’ll torture you if he doesn’t spill.”

She’s pushing past him before the sentence is fully out of his mouth.  Moving as fast as her stupidly short legs will carry her, Tony is forced to jog to keep up.

“We aren’t going to let them torture you,” he says as they board the elevator.  “In case you were wondering.”

She wasn’t.

“Thor’s pretty pissed and Loki is completely loosing his shit, trying to claw his way out of his cell.  It isn’t going to work.  I’d know.  That cell is god proof.”

Eleanor braids her hair, eyes fixed on the illuminated numbers above the doors that slowly tick down each floor separating her from Loki. 

A dozen floors above his basement prison the doors open with a ding.

“Cap!” says Tony in greeting. 

“Hey, folks,” replies Steve.  He is a mess, his clothes dirty and his hair full of dust.  Apparently he is returning from helping with the clean up. “What’s going on?”

“Eleanor is totally going to kick Fury’s ass.  Wanna come watch?”

Steve gives Eleanor a concerned look but gets on the elevator.  Ellie presses the close elevator button approximately eight hundred times in rapid succession.

“Hey, ease up on the merchandise, sweetheart,” says Tony.  “I have enough to fix in this tower without you breaking my damn elevator.”

She doesn’t even glance at him.

When they step out on the correct floor, a rhythmic thumping is reverberating in the hallway.  Even with the pounding, raised voices can be heard echoing from the direction of Loki’s cell. 

“Show time,” mutters Iron Man as Eleanor takes off. 

“This is considered heroism on Midgard?” roars the God of Thunder.  “Threatening to torture an innocent young girl?”

Thor is squared off in front of the door to his brother’s cell, facing Director Fury and Agent Romanoff.  They are surrounded by a handful of armed SHIELD commandos, all warily eyeing the hammer brandished by the irate god.

“Now just take a step back,” says Fury, palms up.  “We have no plans to actually torture her, even if she’s far from innocent.  We need to know what your brother knows, Thor.  We need to know what’s coming!”

“My brother is unwell and all you have managed to do is worsen his condition!” Thor booms.  “You dare torment a Son of Odin?”

Eleanor understands the thumping. 

Despite all the heavy weaponry, she navigates the sea of commandos, coming to stand between Thor and Fury.

“You are a fucking moron,” she tells the director.

“Silence!” Thor shouts as Fury opens his mouth to retort.

“He is trying to get out,” she says, turning to Thor.

“He hurls his body against the entrance to his cell,” he replies.  “He has barely healed from the Dr. Hulk’s assault and I am greatly concerned.  He is beside himself, Lady Eleanor.”

Maybe later she’ll be touched by Loki’s desire to keep her safe, but or now she’s just horrified and heart broken.

She moves to the door, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the cool steel.  SHEILD protests, but Thor’s yelling stops them from stopping her.

“Loki?” she calls.  The pounding immediately ends.

“Eleanor?  _Eleanor_?”

“I’m okay,” she says, fighting her tears.  “They lied, Loki.  I am fine.  They didn’t hurt me and they don’t plan to.”

Her words are met with silence.

“Loki?  Sweetheart, you have to back away from the door.  They aren’t going to let me in unless you move away,” she says.

She lets Thor fight this battle, but after a few minutes SHIELD relents and opens the doors.

He lunges at her the moment she’s locked in with him, pushing her into a corner.  The desperation in his touch is familiar, but this isn’t for pleasure.  Systematically, he checks her for injury, starting with her face and neck.  A huff of air escapes her mouth when he turns her around, removing her shirt to examine her back.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, letting him study her for injury, barely noticing her own semi nudity.

He turns her around again to face him and once more pushes her back into the metal wall.  Muttering under his breath, Loki drops to his knees before her to better examine her bare stomach.

“You are unhurt.”  He looks up at her, meeting her gaze for the first time.  These free and clear green eyes of his never fail to bring her relief.

“Yeah,” she says, stroking his hair.  “I’m fine.  No one is going to hurt me.”

He whimpers.

“Oh, Loki.”  She does not know what to make of his distress and is somewhat shocked to see the thought of her tortured affecting him so powerfully.

“They lied.”

“They lied,” she agrees.

He lets out a relieved groan and kisses her stomach.  She cradles his head as his arms wrap around her.

She is stunned.

“They lied,” he chants.  “They lied.”

Eleanor stands there in a strange embrace with the kneeling God of Chaos, wearing only jeans and a blue sports bra.  The white t-shirt lies discarded at her feet and it takes her longer than it should to understand that the red staining the fabric is blood.

And it certainly wasn’t there when she entered his cell.

“Loki,” she says, dropping to her knees and totally panicking.  “What happened?  Where’s the blood?  Loki?”

“They lied.  You are unhurt.”

It is her turn to frantically explore his body.

“They lied.  You are unhurt.”

The dazed, repeated phrase scares her nearly as much as the blood.  It doesn’t take her long to find its source.

“Oh, Loki.”

When Tony said Loki was attempting to claw his way out of his cell, he meant it literally. 

He’s shredded his fingernails.  Several are missing all together.  There might even be a bit of exposed bone, but she wraps up his bleeding fingers in her t-shirt before she can get a good look.  She doesn’t want a good look.

“They lied.  You are unhurt.”

“But you _are_ hurt, Loki.”

“Eleanor.”  His smile is soft, childlike.  His gaze is adoring and it freaks her the fuck out.

“Yeah, I’m here.”  She turns to stare directly at a security camera in the corner.  “Are you going to bring a fucking first aid kit or what?  Fucking _morons_.”

* * *

 

“They spoke the words,” he murmurs.  “They spoke the lies and I saw only you, unmade, remade.  Twisted by fire and blades and lies and loneliness.  Whispered words in the dark.  Your voice stolen, unable to beg for the sweetness of death.” 

It’s quiet, in the cell and out.  Thor brought pillows and a thin mattress – she thinks it might be the one Loki magically crazy glued her to during the battle – along with the first aid kit and they sit on the make shift bed now.  Their shoulders touch and his bandaged hands rest on his lap.

Every movement brings a wince and Eleanor wonders how many bones he re-broke in his desperate attempt to get out.

To get to her.

“Loki,” she murmurs.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

But she knows enough to be scared.

“Eleanor in the Void.”

“The Void?  Your Void?”

“ _His_ Void.”

“I don’t understand, Loki.”

He sighs heavily, wincing once more as he adjusts to lay his head on her shoulder.

“I hurt you once,” he whispers, breath hot against her neck.  She closes her eyes.  “More than once,” he amends.

“You did.”

“But you do not fear me.”  He moves to lift his hand but the pain is too much and he whimpers, dropping it back to his lap.  “Why do you not fear me?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Language, Eleanor.”

“I should be scared.  Maybe I’m just an idiot.  Maybe it’s because I’ve had worse.  But I’m not scared of you.”

_I’m scared for you._

“I hurt you here,” he says, moving this nose against her neck.  It tickles and she giggles.  “I hurt you before that.  Hurt your head.  Hurt your hand.  But after knowing you, after what I’ve seen, I hurt you here.”

The bruises have faded now.  She’s always healed quickly.

“You did.  It was just a couple days ago,” she tells him.

“Only a matter of days, you say?”

“Yes.  Like, a week I guess.  Almost a week.”

“It feels as though I’ve been trapped in either this room or the Void for years,” he mutters.

Turning her head, she presses her lips into the top of his head.

“I hurt you,” he says again.  “Why did I do this?  Why would I hurt you?  I have no desire to see you hurt.”

“You like me.” Eleanor says, startled by this revelation.

“Something along those lines, I suppose.  Most unfortunate and bothersome, really.”

This fact should not make her so happy, but knowing that she is not alone with all these misplaced, inexplicable feelings is something of a relief.

“My mind is not my own,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“It is full of long shadows.”

“I know.”

“I do not like it in here.”

She doesn’t have the words.

“May we rest now, Eleanor?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she says.  When she shifts, a little cry of pain escapes his lips.  “Can you lie down?”

“Yes.” 

There is grunting and grasping, but in the end he rests on his side, an arm draped over her waist.

* * *

 

When she opens her eyes, she finds herself flat on her back.  Loki’s face is tucked into her neck.  The rest of him of him basically covers her chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, legs tangled together under the blanket.

The weight of him is slightly uncomfortable, but she won’t move him.  Underneath this tunic, his skin is splotchy purple and blue, bruising so severe it makes those fading to yellow on her own ribs look like nothing.

She blinks, glancing around their current prison.  The lights are low, but Eleanor still recognizes the massive figure slouching on the bench across from them.  His arms are crossed and his chin nearly touches his chest, but his eyes are open, watching her.

“Is it morning?” she whispers.

The God of Chaos doesn’t so much as stir in her arms.

“No,” replies Thor.  He straightens, rubbing his eyes and letting out a sigh.  “You came to Loki in the early afternoon and now it is just passed the midnight hour.”

“Oh.”  She won’t leave while Loki sleeps and there is no way in hell she’ll wake him up when he rests so little.  It looks like she is going to be trapped her for a while.

“I have dealt with Director Nicholas Fury.  He nor any other will speak to my brother without you or I present,” Thor says.  He talks quietly, impressing Ellie with this ability to not constantly shout.  “I knew not of the extensive cruelty of humanity, especially in those I once considered allies.”

“They’re scared,” Ellie explains.  “They were wrong here, but their actions were born from fear.  At this point it is pretty clear that Loki was only a pawn for something much, much worse and they’re scared.”

“Wise words, Lady Eleanor.  So long as they leave my brother be for the duration of our stay, I will forgive this slight.”

Ellie shrugs, lifting a hand to adjust Loki’s greasy hair, moving it away from her face.  Maybe today she’ll talk him into using the shower in the small, utilitarian bathroom. 

“You are now under my protection as well,” he continues. 

Questioning looks do not work with the golden god and Eleanor is forced to use her words.

“Why?”

Or word, anyway.

“You may very well be Aesir and therefore mine to protect as Crown Prince of the Realm Eternal.”  The thought makes her shudder.  “And additionally, you are greatly important to my brother.”

“So it would seem.”

“You knew not?”

Eleanor glances down at the sleeping god and shakes her head at the Crown Prince of Wherever.

“He has always been one to keep his true feelings private,” says Thor.  “This current illness plaguing his mind leaves him incapable of hiding.  For the first time I believe Loki to be fully transparent.”

Eleanor is inclined to agree with this assessment.  Loki’s going to hate this, if he ever if free of the psychosis.

And at this point that is a big if.

It took her a crap boat of antipsychoticmedsand an extended stay in the loony bin to get her brain chemistry back in order.  Somehow Ellie doesn’t think [risperidone](http://www.webmd.com/drugs/mono-2034-RISPERIDONE+-+ORAL.aspx?drugid=6283&drugname=risperidone+oral) is designed with alien gods in mind.

“This might be a bad thing, Thor,” she murmurs.

“Bad?  I’ve never known Loki to care for another in this way.  Few on Asgard ever so much as garnered his attention.  Surely the experience of genuine affection will be as beneficial for him as it was for me,” he says, frowning at her in confusion.

“You’ll be gone in a few weeks, maybe a month,” she whispers.  “And I probably won’t ever see him again.  Pretty soon this affection is going to hurt.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

Silence stretches.  Eleanor adjusts slightly, trying to get in a more comfortable position.  Against her Loki sighs, moving one hand from her waist to her chest.  She frowns at his bandages.

“Why did he do this?” she asks.

“He was attempting to protect you.”

“No, I know that.  I meant, why did he try to muscle his way out of here?  I’ve seen him do amazing, impossible things with his magic.  Why didn’t he just poof out of here, or whatever?  Where is the magic, Thor?” she asks.

“It is there,” murmurs the thunder god.  “But I doubt he will be able to access it for quite some time.  It is buried deep now, healing him in mind and body.  Until both are not so broken, his magic will stay subconscious and outside his control.”

“Oh.”

“Will you retire to your rooms for the remainder of the night, Lady Eleanor?” Thor asks.

“No.”  She holds Loki a little closer.  “We both sleep better together.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nor am I,” Thor replies.  “It is only in sleep that my brother allows me near.  During his waking hours he fears me.”

“It’s exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he’s this messed up.”

“Exceedingly.”

 


	13. Tates

“I like you,” Tony Stark tells her through a mouthful of muffin.  He says it like he still can’t quite believe it, even if she hears this from him pretty much daily.

Ellie sits across the table from Iron Man, picking at the huge plate of food prepared by his girlfriend.  Pepper Potts is lovely, but rather annoying in her mothering.  The CEO of Stark Industries seems to have taken it upon herself to keep Ellie well fed.

This morning she sat Ellie down, shoved a giant plate of food in front of her, and then bopped off to work.

“You think I’m nuts,” Ellie corrects, chomping on bacon and washing it down with orange juice.

“I know you’re nuts,” Stark says.  “But there is no shortage of crazies around and I like you.”

Ellie frowns at him and chews thoughtfully.  Crazy is a word that just gets thrown around, but it actually means something.  Just look at Loki.

“Thor wants Fury to let you spend nights in Bambi’s cell,” Stark muses, studying her intently.   “All your nights.  Reparations for the little stunned they pulled last week, lying to him about you.”

Ellie is unsurprised to hear this. Thor would have her in the cell every moment if he could convince the others, but she honestly doesn’t know if she can handle it.  Every mood of Loki’s is so extreme, but lately his fear is nearly overwhelming.   

Loki scared is almost more alarming than all the other horrors Ellie has witnessed combined.

She eats her breakfast and thinks about Loki literal fall from grace.

Ellie lost a scholarship to the Berklee School of Music, partied like a maniac, and then basically killed her fake father when she found out about her adoption.  After his death her subsequent depression led to psychosis and she sliced her own wrists open in a bathtub in a misguided attempt to make the pain stop, and then ran away from home the moment they let her out of the loony bin.

Loki tried to commit genocide on Jotunheim in an much more misguided attempt to please his fake father and destroy what he couldn’t kill off in himself before he fell. 

Their actions are startlingly comparable, given that he is a god and what not.  Ellie has a difficult time coming to terms with just how much they have in common.

She understands.  She doesn’t forgive him, but she really does understand that need to burn it all down.  All that rage has to go somewhere.

“Why do you do it?” asks Stark, popping another chunk of muffin in his mouth.

Ellie shrugs.

“Come on, Debbie Harry.  We’re friends.  Give it to me straight,” he encourages.

“For the good of SHEILD, of course,” she says, her tone saccharine.

Tony laughs.  Tony laughs at Ellie a lot.  His insults rarely offend her and she finds she doesn’t mind his company.

“You’ve got about much love for SHIELD as I do,” says Iron Man.  “But Fury is a good guy.  He tries, anyway.  Didn’t want them to blow up New York, at least.”

Ellie shrugs. “I’m their prisoner, Stark.”

“You’re my guest, Eleanor,” he corrects.

Ellie gives him a little smile.  “They used me to hurt Loki,” she says.  “And they’ll use me to find all about Asgardian physiology, if I give them the go ahead.  Maybe even if I don’t give them the go ahead.”

“You’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.  We won’t let them force you into anything,” he says.

Elle gives him another little smile.

“Oh, you’re good with the whole trying to change the subject thing.  Why do you do it?” Tony pushes.

“Stockholm syndrome,” she replies, cradling her hot mug of coffee and tucking her legs underneath her body.

Tony Stark blinks at her and try as she might, she is unable to fight off her smile. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

Eleanor shrugs because she doesn’t really understand herself.

“But for real, this dude kidnapped you, attempted to enslave your people, attempted to mind control you, killed hundreds!”  As Tony Stark talks he grows more irate.  The gentle teasing of a moment before is gone and Iron Man is angry.  “And all of it was a fucking temper tantrum.  He’s just adopted so he throws a hissy fit that very nearly ends the world as we know it!”

There is silence for a moment.  Ellie stares at Iron Man so intensely the egomaniac actually shuffles uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Just adopted.  I’m adopted,” she whispers.

“Well… yeah, I mean, I figured with the whole surprise, you might be god, thing,” he mutters, looking properly ashamed of himself.

Ellie turns to look out the window at the sunshine.  Tony Stark is blessedly silent for nearly two minutes, a personal record, no doubt.

“So that’s why you put up with him?  Comfort him?  Let him paw at you?” he asks, less angry now, but still curious.  “Because you’re adopted too?”

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “He doesn’t paw at me.  And it makes me sick, thinking about what he did, but I understand where that hate is coming from.  It’s like… I just… I’ve felt that rage.  I pulled some pretty fucked up shit when I found out and if my rage was combined with a millennia of lies combined with torture to the point of insanity… well, I might have tried to burn the whole world down, too.”

That was way more personal than Ellie ever anticipated getting with Tony Stark of all people, and she blushes, embarrassed and uncomfortable by her uncharacteristic verbosity.

Stark nods absently, but Ellie can tell he doesn’t really get it, not that she expected him too.  Ellie doesn’t even really fully understand her pull to the God of Lies, but she’ll go see him today, just like she’ll she him everyday until Tony manages to finish the little device that will take the gods back home.

She has a very hard time thinking about what comes next.

“Should just be another couple weeks now,” he muses as if he can read her mind.  “Then they’ll be gone and you’ll be free to become another SHIELD lackey.”

Ellie scowls at him.

“Still haven’t decided?”

She shakes her head, but it’s a lie.  There is no way she’ll willing become their lab monkey, but she won’t turn them down yet either, not until Loki is gone.  She doesn’t know what happens, after she says no, but she won’t risk anything taking her away from Loki.

“You could come work for me, you know.”

“As what, exactly?”

“You, Britney Spears, could sing in my lobby.”

She glares at him.

“What are you meeting with Fury about?  Becoming a SHIELD lackey?”

“Honestly, Tony, I have no idea.”

* * *

 

“My brother asks for you,” Thor says, falling into step beside her as she makes her way to the rooms in Stark Tower Fury commandeered as his own.

Loki is asking for her, which means he is either having a very good or very bad day.  His bad days are less frequent, but good days are even more rare.  Plus, good days aren’t that good because he is still so angry and so confused.

“I’ll come down after I meet with Fury,” she murmurs, feeling dwarfed by the god.

“Very well, Miss Tate,” he booms with a grin.  “I shall inform him of your impending visit.  He will be most pleased.”

She nods absently, refusing to analyze the fact that she almost looks forward to her time spent with Loki, or she would if he wasn’t in so much pain.

“I am glad my brother has you, Miss Tate,” Thor says as Ellie pauses by Fury’s door.

Ellie wants to tell Thor that Loki doesn’t have her, not really, but the golden god looks so damn happy she can’t bring herself to burst his bubble.

“Come in,” Fury calls in response to her knock.

She does as instructed, wary as ever of all things SHIELD.  Fury may let her see Loki and she now is mostly free to move about the tower, but she is still a prisoner.  It’s difficult not to hate him after the lie he told Loki, and she won’t forget his capacity for cruelty and manipulation. 

It’s been nearly four months of imprisonment and Ellie doesn’t really remember what it felt like to have her own life.

Not that she ever had much of a life.

Deep in thought, Ellie shuffles into the office and takes her usual seat across from Fury at his desk without really looking around.

“Good morning, Miss Tate,” Fury greets.  She nods at him, folding her legs under her body and studying her hands in her lap.

“I still haven’t decided and I’m not going to until they leave.  I’m not going anywhere until they leave,” she says.  It is a familiar conversation at this point, with Fury badgering her. 

“You’re not here to continue that particular argument, Miss Tate,” he says with a sigh.  “You have visitors.”

Ellie becomes aware of movement in the corner of the room and someone sniffles.  She lifts her head to scowl at Fury and freezes when there is an even louder sniff.

Palms clammy, Ellie’s heart rate accelerates with her panic.  She doesn’t have any real friends, none that SHIELD would bother looking into anyway.  Although she broke all ties with her fake family years ago, on paper she is still Maureen Tate’s daughter.  Laura Tate’s little sister.

“Ellie,” says that achingly familiar voice. 

It has Ellie biting the side of her cheek to keep from crying.  Where is the apathy?  She doesn’t care about her visitors.  She doesn’t care about anyone, except Loki in some weird, twisted way.  She likes Tony and Pepper and Thor, too, but not these guests.  She stopped caring about her fake family the moment they forced her into that mental hospital.

Even if she needed it.  Even if it helped.  It still felt like abandonment, or did at the time, anyway.

“Ellie.”

The sound of approaching footsteps on the hard wood floors rouses Ellie from her shocked state, but she still doesn’t move. 

If she doesn’t move, they’ll try to touch her and that is simply not acceptable, so she gets up, scrambling towards the door.  She leans against her escape route and looks at her fake family for the first time in eight years.

They look older but painfully the same. 

Maureen and Laura could be sisters if it weren’t for the frown lines around the older woman’s mouth and eyes.  They are tall, nearly seven inches taller than Ellie.  She looks at their shiny, straight dark hair and remembers how she dyed her own blond mop brown from ages fourteen to seventeen.  Ellie sees nothing of herself in these women who pretended to be her family and wonders how she could have ever pretended to belong with them in return.

Laura is thirty now and Ellie’s eyes linger on the swell of her belly.  She always was the perfect one, so Ellie should not be surprised to see that she has now succeeded personally.  Doubtless, she also followed in their parents’ footsteps and became a doctor too.

God, how she used to love Laura.  What she would have given to be just like Laura.

Ellie feels rumpled in her borrowed jeans and white t-shirt.  They stare at her and she feels small.  Worse, she feels guilty.  She struggles to hold onto the anger, but mostly she feels so guilty and so sad.

No one knows what to say.  Given everything, what is there to say after eight years, but then Maureen is opening her mouth.  Ellie interrupts, not ready to hear the voice of the woman who never did a very good job faking love for her fake daughter.

Except that’s not really fair.  She had a good childhood.  Even if it was a lie, she believed it.  She felt loved.

That made discovering the truth that much worse, somehow.

“So it’s looking like I’m not entirely human,” Ellie muses, pleased with the calm, careless tone.  If she sounds like it doesn’t matter than maybe it actually doesn’t matter. 

Maureen’s face falls.  She knew.  Her fake mother knew and Eleanor’s fury returns with such force she can’t really see. 

“But that’s not news to you, is it. _Maureen_ ,” Ellie continues.

“Ellie—“

“Just another lie right?  It’s what you do best.”

The tears in Maureen’s eyes give Ellie a little thrill of satisfaction.  “I was just trying to protect you,” she murmurs.

“I was recently kidnapped by a mentally unstable god.  Good fucking job, _Maureen_.”

“You’re father and I—“

“Do not talk about him!” Ellie says, getting hysterical for the first time.

Maureen’s gaze drops to the floor and the tears fall.

“You’re going to be an aunt,” Laura says.  Ellie does not want to look at her fake big sister, but she can’t help it.  Those pleading brown eyes do something to Ellie’s heart. 

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” says her fake sister, digging around in her purse.  Laura approaches Ellie, who considers fleeing the scene but her legs don’t appear to be capable of movement.  “Look, here’s the head.  Those are the feet.”

Ellie blinks down at the sonogram and it feels like her heart is going to beat right out of her chest.

Laura tracked Ellie down about six years ago, pleading with her to come home.  Ellie screamed at her until she left.  “ _When you’re ready,_ ” said Laura.  “ _I’ll be here, still loving you, whenever you’re ready._ ”

Ellie is still far from ready.

“I was an idiot last time, Elle.”  That’s a nickname she hasn’t heard for years.  “I thought you just needed time and space, but there is no way in hell I’m letting you get away again.”

Ellie just gapes up at her fake sister.

“You look just the same,” Laura murmurs, tucking a stray chunk of blond hair behind Ellie’s ear.  “Too skinny as usual, but still so beautiful.  I am so sorry you’ve been alone.”

Looking at Laura hurts and Ellie steps back, pushing into the door.  Laura sighs heavily and drops her hand to her side.  Ellie’s fake big sister is still so elegant and perfect and fucking _good_.

Ellie feels as if she’s drowning.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks.

Pepper and Tony are the only ones that ever ask that.  Everyone else pulls at her, using her for their own means.  Fury to learn more about non-human physiology, Thor to help his brother, and Loki to hold on to as much of his sanity as possible.

Ellie nods.

“No, you’re not,” Laura decides, frowning.

“If you already had your answer, why even bother asking the question?” Ellie snaps.

“Ah, there’s my spunky little sister,” Laura grins.  Ellie is spunky.  Laura is elegant and smart and beautiful and fucking perfect.  That’s how it’s always been.

“I’m not your sister.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You don’t be stupid.”

Laura smiles again, enjoying the familiar bickering.  Ellie bites the side of her cheek again to keep from crying.

“Why are they here?” Ellie whispers, shooting another glare at Fury.  It’s Maureen that answers.

“You’ve been missing for over three and a half months, Eleanor,” murmurs her fake mother.  The woman who attempted to raise her wrings her hands and watches her with wide, worried eyes.  “Laura is still your emergency contact.”

“We thought you were dead,” Laura says.  Now she’s crying too.  “For three and a half months we thought you were dead.”

“It’s not like that fact would change your life at all,” Ellie mutters.

“God, you’re such an idiot!” snaps her fake big sister.  “I’ve missed you everyday for eight years, and these last three months were horrible, Elle.  Just horrible.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me you mourned?”’ she says, heavy on the sarcasm.

Laura lets out a frustrated sob and then throws herself at Ellie.  She doesn’t return the embrace, but stays stiff as her fake big sister cries and squeezes her.  A strange urge to melt against the woman she spent so many years idolizing over comes her.  She wants to close her eyes and hug Laura back. 

The impulse is terrifying and Ellie slips away.

“So I’m not dead,” she says, trying to sound strong.  “Thanks for stopping by.  See you in another eight years.”

“Eleanor, please—”

“You don’t even like me, Maureen,” Ellie interrupts.  “I killed your husband.  You locked me away.  We don’t really do well with each other so let’s just go our separate ways.  Again.”

“Fuck, Elle,” Laura says with a huff.  “It wasn’t your fault.  Dad would hate that you still blame yourself.”

Much to Ellie’s horror, a tear rolls down her cheek.  She brushes it away, hoping no one notices.

“What do you know about me?” Ellie whispers, looking up to stare at her fake mother.  “What am I?”

“I don’t know,” whispers Maureen.  “You are my beautiful daughter.  Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course not, you incept whelp,” Ellie says, channeling Loki for a moment.  Maureen winces.

“ _Whelp_?” echoes Laura.

“Your father knew your birth mother,” Maureen says.  “They were high school sweethearts, and she came to him when she got in trouble.  Nina Fink.  Her name was Nina Fink.”

“I know all this,” Ellie says.  Hearing it again hurts.

“I thought Nina was crazy.  The pregnancy was hard on her and she came to stay with us two months before you were due.  She was on bed rest and she would spend hours talking about Norse Mythology.  I felt bad for her so I listened.”

This part is new.  Ellie tenses and stares at the ground, but listens avidly.

“To Nina it wasn’t mythology.  The stories were real.  Her absolute favorite was Bragi, God of Poetry, except she insisted that he was actually the God of Music, but all the myths say different,” Maureen continues, speaking as if this is the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Ellie’s knees rattle together and she leans against a wall for support.  “I know those stories.  Da… Harrison used to tell me them at bedtime,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, I really hated that.  The stories were a reminder that he once loved someone else and she gave him a child before I could.  I hated her a little bit, too.  Here I was, newly married, living with my new husband and his ex-girlfriend,” Maureen confesses.  The honesty shocks Ellie.  “And then Nina died in childbirth and we came home with you.  You were so perfect and I had no idea what I was doing, but you would look up at me with those big blue eyes and I loved you in a way I didn’t even know was possible.”

Ellie is really crying now, as much as she hates it.

“Wait… Newlyweds?  You didn’t know what you were doing?  What about Laura?  She was already four when you brought me home.  Was she such a perfect infant that when I cried you really didn’t know what you were doing?” Ellie asks, eyes narrowing at suspicion.

Maureen and Laura share a look.  Laura nods encouragingly.  Maureen opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

“Tell me,” Ellie pleads.

“You were my first child, Eleanor,” Maureen murmurs.  “I know it seems impossible, but Laura was born a year and a half after we brought you home from the hospital.”

Ellie’s knees give out.  She sinks into a chair.

“You age differently, Eleanor,” says her fake mother.  “You’ve been on this planet for thirty two years, but your body is not thirty two.  Not a human thirty two.  Looking at you now, you still look about eighteen, maybe younger.  You haven’t aged a day.”

Once again her breathing accelerates.  She fists her hands in her hair and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

“How could you not tell me?” she whispers through her ragged breathing,  “You just left me alone to figure it out by myself?”

“We were going to tell you, but you took the news of the adoption so poorly, we didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, so _your_ lies are _my_ fault!”

“We were trying to protect you!” screams Maureen, really losing her cool now.  “Do you know what happens to people like you?  They would have taken you away, Ellie!  They would have taken you away, studied you endlessly!  We were protecting you, but somehow you ended up here anyway.  I won’t let this SHIELD lock you up.”

Fury makes a sound.  He is totally ignored.

Taking deep breaths Ellie stands on shaky legs.  “Fuck you, _Maureen_ ,” she says.  “And fuck you, too, Fury.”

She slams out the office, ignoring the protest of her fake sister and rushing to the elevators.

* * *

 

“Let me in,” Ellie insists.

The guards who stand on either side of the door to his cell exchange a look.  Usually, they don’ let her in without Thor loitering by the monitors, watching to see if Ellie needs to be pulled out.

“Let me in!” she repeats, trying to keep her hysteria out of her voice.

“Sorry, Miss Tate. But you’re gonna need to track down Thor.  He’s really agitated today and we wouldn’t want him to hurt you.  No one goes in but you and Thor.  We’re not allowed in under any circumstances and couldn’t pull you out if things got bad,” explains the guard on the right.

Ellie can’t really even understand their words.  A buzzing is in her head and she is desperate to get inside, but somehow she manages to calm herself.

“Thor is on his way,” Ellie says, sounding shockingly commanding.  “It is on his request that I am here.  Do you really want to anger the God of Thunder?”

They exchange another look at let her in.

Loki is pacing around along the back wall of his rectangular cell when the door slides open.  He spares her a glance and continues pacing, reminding Ellie of a caged big cat.  His stride is powerful and frustrated, and Ellie can tell just from his movements that he is having a lucid day.  She breathes a sigh of relief because she is not capable of dealing with scared, hurting, lost Loki in this moment.

“Just where have you been?” he hisses.  “Off gallivanting with the unendurable Man of Iron?  I do not approve of your friendship with this egotistical mortal.  His intentions are far from pure.”

Ellie blinks at him, not much room in her head for his jealousy.

“His girlfriend made me a really big breakfast,” she whispers.

“Even so.  You are to avoid him.  Unfortunately I have no means of enforcing this decree in my current imprisoned state.  And my magic is still inaccessible.  Why is my magic inaccessible?”

He glares down at his palms, as confused as he is frustrated.

“Decree,” she repeats, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him.

“Do not stare at me in such a manner, Eleanor.  Things never work out for you when you fail to do as I say,” he snaps, continuing to pace.

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “And if you listened to me, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Eleanor—“

“You were right,” she says.  “How did you know?”

At her question, Loki finally stops pacing and turns to look at her.

“Words I never thought you would utter,” he mutters.  “Although, usually I am right.  To what do you refer?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t know how to actually say the words.

“What is wrong?” he says, rushing to stand in front of her, crowding into her personal space.  “Eleanor, what happened?  Did someone harm you?  Was it Director Fury?  Tony Stark?  I will slay him where he stands.”

Ellie shakes her head and tries to explain, but the words get stuck in her throat.  Sobs come out instead and she lets her forehead fall against his chest.  His hands come up to cradle her head and she gets his tunic all wet with her tears.

“Eleanor!” Loki says, the alarm apparent in his voice.  He attempts to pull away and stare at her face, but she wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing for dear life.  “You are frightening me, Eleanor.”

“Just let me cry, okay!” she manages.

He stops trying to get any answers and walks her over to the bench.  She crawls into his lap when he sits, pushing her nose into his neck.  He rocks her slightly, stroking her hair.

It’s awkward.

This is odd behavior for Loki.  He is not one to offer comfort and it is apparent in his stiff movements. Ellie is shocked that he isn’t taking the opportunity to mock her pain and leer at her tears. 

Maybe he feels as if he owes her for all the comfort she’s provided when she pulls him back from the Void. 

Maybe he just enjoys touching her.

She loses track of the time, but eventually her sobs turn to hiccups as she calms.

“Eleanor,” he whispers, pleading for an explanation now.  “What happened?  You have me exceedingly concerned.”

It’s a little surreal.  He is exceedingly concerned.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs. “I’m okay.”

“Eleanor, you were not this hysterical when I brought you to the bunker and demonstrated my power.  After all I have told you while out of my mind, surely you can find the words to explain this, despite your abhorrence of speech,” he says.

“I’m glad you’re having a good day.”

He rolls his eyes.  “I am a prisoner who frequently experiences great lapses of sanity.  I fail at everything I attempt. You are exceptionally distressed and have ruined the only piece of clothing in my possession, while I have no magic to rectify the situation.  Your idea of a good day differs greatly from mine.”

She smiles into his neck and he shivers as her lips move against his skin.

“You’re worried about me,” she says, still smiling despite everything that she just went through, everything she just found out.

He huffs but does nothing to dispute her claim.  “Eleanor, what happened?”

Steeling her nerves, she climbs out off his lap.  She sits next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging her shins.  He turns to look at her but she stares at the floor.

“I’m adopted,” she whispers.

“Yes, I am aware,” Loki replies after a beat of silence.  “You mentioned this fact at a most inopportune moment, if I recall.”

Ellie gets quiet again and Loki reaches out to play with a stray lock of hair. She sighs and hates herself for reveling in the contact, for her draw to this dark god she has far too much in common with.

“I really wish we weren’t on camera right now,” she says, glaring pitifully at the recording device in the corner.

Loki lowers his lips to her ear and a shiver goes up her spine.  “My dear, sweet songbird, daily I wish we were not on camera.  Normally I would care little if someone saw me make you scream my name, but the one watching was once my brother and that will not do.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and pulls away.  Loki sighs.

“You were adopted,” he continues.

“Yes.  I found out when I was seventeen.”

“Seventeen is not so long,” he scoffs.

“It felt long.”

“Oh, of that I have little doubt.”

“Except I wasn’t actually seventeen.  I have no idea how old I was,” she whispers, talking to herself.  “I thought I was seventeen like I thought I was twenty-six now, but that was nine years ago and thirty two minus nine is twenty three.  So I guess I found out when I was twenty three but I thought I was seventeen.”

Loki stares at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“You know,” he says, mimicking Ellie’s voice.  The impression in uncanny.  “Ninety percent of the time I have no idea what you are talking about.”

She instantly recognizes the words she spoke on the night he kidnapped her and lets out a little giggle that quickly turns into a sob.  Loki dries her cheeks with his fingertips, bringing the tears to his lips.

“My fake mother is here,” she tells him.  “And my fake big sister, too.  They knew, about me not being completely human.  Maureen, my fake mom, she’s a doctor so I guess I get how she pulled it off when I was a baby, but I’m actually older than my fake big sister.  Well, not older exactly.  She’s thirty now and Maureen says I still look about eighteen, as if I haven’t aged a day since the last time I saw her eight years ago.”

“Ah, you have your origin story now,” he says, squinting as if he is struggling to remember  “I knew Bragi once.  A distant relation.”

Eleanor stares at him blankly.

“You’re related to my father.”

“A distant relation.”

“You’re _related_ to my _father_.”  She is getting hysterical once more.

“No,” he says, his tone clearly indicating that he thinks she is an idiot.  “He is a distant relation to the Queen.”

Loki gets off the bench to take up his typical pacing.

“The queen?” Eleanor asks.  “As in your mother?”

Loki rolls his eyes and clasps his hands behind his back.

“False mother,” he corrects.  “There is no relation between us.  Have you forgotten that I too was raised by strangers?  And while we are discussing disturbing aspects of our relationship, there is the age difference.  That is the real taboo here.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” she mutters, amazed at how the conversation is getting away from her.

“What would you call it?”

“A mess.”

Loki grins ruefully.  “Regardless, I have made love to an infant.”

“Made love?” she asks, gaping at him.  “Infant?”

“You have not yet reached your fiftieth name day.”

“That’s stupid,” she replies.  “I’m still a grown up, even if I don’t have a couple thousand years of experience.  And apparently I am four years closer to fifty than I thought.”

He sighs and sits next to her, pushing his hands through his hair.

“Bragi,” Loki mutters in a sort of daze.  “God of Song.”

“According to myth it was the God of Poetry, ” she says, echoing Maureen’s earlier explanation.

“Well, that too I suppose, although these myths of yours are far from accurate.”

“I think my birth mom was a mortal though.  Nina.”

“No self respecting Aesir would name her child something as ridiculous as _Nina_.”

“You are so good today,” she whispers, giving him a teary smile. 

“And you are exceptionally chatty.”

Again, Ellie laughs.  Again, her chuckles turn to sobs.  Loki puts a tentative hand on her shoulder and Ellie turns to him, seeking comfort in his arms.

“Will you tell me about this Bragi person now, please?” she asks after she’s managed to compose herself once more.

“Bragi God of Song, he was a distant relation,” Loki murmurs, staring intently at the floor.  “No, I have no relations, distant or otherwise.  He is a distant relation to the queen, her cousin, I believe.  Or perhaps her cousin’s son.  Please do not be alarmed.  We are not even the same species.  There is no relation.”

“Right.  Not even the same species,” she says.

“You know,” he says, turning to her suddenly.  “You know what I am.  How do you know?”

They are already done discussing the God of Music, it would seem.

“Thor told me,” she confesses.

“Told you what, exactly?” he snaps.

“Everything,” she replies.  “Thor told me about his exile and your brief rule.  He told me you tried to kill him and your friends in New Mexico.  And then your attempt at genocide and the bridge.”

She voice breaks a little as she thinks about it.

“And did my false brother tell you that two days prior he dragged us all to Jotunheim, determined to slaughter them all?” Loki spits out, bitter and defensive.  “Somewhat hypocritical, do you not agree?”

He wrings his hands, getting up to pace once more, and this conversation really, _really_ got away from her.

“Yeah, he told me that too.”

“And he told you how he pushed me into nothingness?  How he condemned me to lifetimes alone, my body rotting in darkness?  My mind decaying?  Only to be found by the Other, subject to the tender mercies of _him?_   Did he tell you this, Eleanor?”

Struggling against her tears, she gets off the bench and slowly approaches him.  She reaches out to her panicking god.  He watches, and does not flinch when she presses her palm into his chest.

“Loki,” she murmurs, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. 

When he calms enough to participate in the embrace, he lifts her off her feet, pressing their chests tightly together.  He matches his labored breathing to hers and she feels the panic drain out of him.

“Did he really push you, Loki?” she murmurs when he sets her down again.

“I…” He closes his eyes, pressing his palms into his temples.  “Given the opportunity, I would not hesitate to push him.”

“That’s not an answer, Loki.”

He shakes his head again and when he looks her at her, his eyes are cold and angry, but blessedly, brilliantly green.

“And the Crowned Prince told you what I am?  He told you that in truth I am and forever will be, a monster?”  He spits out the words, hissing and glaring and reminding her more of a snake than a monster.

“He didn’t say monster,” she replies.  “Yosomething.  He says you are a Yosomething from Yosomewhere.”

“A Yosomething from Yosomewhere,” he repeats, face blank and body unmoving.

“A giant snowman?” she ventures, not really trying that hard to remember the particulars.  She’s got quite a bit on her mind.

His answering laugh is sharp and without humor.

“I could freeze you heart in your chest,” he says simply. 

“And you could choke me to death or turn me into a ladybug.  Are you going to do any of those things?”

“No.”

“Okay then.  So let’s not throw around the word monster.”

“When did he tell you?” he demands.

She pauses, thinking back.  The last three weeks have passed in a haze of painful revelations and sleepless nights.

“A day or two after the battle,” she says, shrugging.  “I don’t know.  Before I came to see you for the first time.”

“Knowing the truth about me you still willingly lock yourself away here?  With me?”  He is gaping at her, sinking down onto the metal bench at her side as if his legs no longer support him. 

“Dude, I really don’t fucking care if you are frosty the frozen snow god,” she says, frustrated. 

“Language!”

“You are either from one planet I don’t know anything about or another planet I don’t know anything about.”  And now she is up and pacing.  “It doesn’t matter where you’re from, only what you do.  Now can we please talk about my freaking father who you just so happen to know?”

“It does not matter?”  He is in a daze, ogling her from her seat on the bench, mouth hanging open.  Eleanor braids her hair in frustration.  She leans against the metal wall opposite his metal bench, before sliding down to sit on the concrete floor.

As he silently gapes at her, Ellie tries to figure out why she is even here, what she wants from him in this moment. 

She has friends now.  Sort of.  There are good guys milling around on the floors above, Tony and Thor and Pepper, good people who Ellie could maybe possibly trust someday.  They know about her past and Eleanor is getting better at talking to them, but the moment she finally learned the truth about her parentage, she didn’t think of them.  She did not think at all as she rushed to see Loki, the only creature in the universe capable of understanding this trauma. 

She’s a different species too, turns out.

It was too much to ask, she realizes.  She came here for comfort and commiseration, but it was too much to ask.  He is already too burdened with his own glorious demons to take hers on as well.

“You knew his name,” she says, coming to a startling revelation. 

“Pardon?”

“My bio dad,” she says. “You called him Bragi, but I never you told you his name.”

“Thor must have mentioned—“

“No,” she says, dismissing his rather pathetic lie.  “Thor doesn’t know this.”

Except he is most likely sitting in the viewing room, hearing every word so he certainly knows now.

“He didn’t know this,” she corrects.  “Maureen just told me, but you already knew.  How did you already know?”

He shrugs and looks away.

“Please,” she says, her voice breaking.  She is so very tired of the secrets.  Others know so much more about her than she knows about herself, and it’s fucking _unfair_.  “Please, just tell me.  This is my life, Loki.”

“Eleanor—“

“Tell me.”  Without shame she begs him and Loki’s expression shifts into something so open and vulnerable.  She doesn’t understand.

“You weep,” he whispers.  The terror in his tone shocks her and she wants to rush across the room to comfort him, but she can’t find her legs.  “Stop immediately.”

Ellie wipes her nose on the back of her hand.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You must.”

It is a struggle, but she makes it to her feet, her tears continuing. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, cowering slightly as if she is about to physically attack him.

“I’ll leave,” she says.  “I can’t stop crying, so I’ll go.”

She almost makes it to the door.

“No.”

Eleanor turns, raising an eyebrow.

“Do not leave.  Come here, Eleanor.”

She slides onto his bench with extreme wariness.

“I saw your parents,” Loki murmurs, studying his hand in his lap.  “Saw your true parents.”

“Saw them?”  She sits sideways, her head and shoulder resting against the wall, knees pulled to her chest.  “Like you saw me as a queen?  Like you saw my encounter with the Hulk?”

_Like you saw me in The Void._

But she doesn’t mention this, doesn’t want to trigger a panic attack.

“You listen well,” he says, smiling ruefully.  “You hear too much, it would seem.”

“What did you see, Loki?  How did you see it?”

“The Tesseract,” he admits.  “It showed me Bragi casting spells of protection on a sleeping, pregnant mortal who possessed features similar to your own.”

“Protection?” She manages to squeak out the word even as her throat feels like it is collapsing in on itself.

“He was powerful,” Loki murmurs.  “I recall that at least from my youth, and his magic explains why I am unable to skim your thoughts, why the Tesseract could not touch you.  I am willing to wager Heimdall has never so much as gazed upon you.  He lost track of Bragi centuries ago.  Who knows if lives still.”

Eleanor is nowhere near ready to deal with that yet.

“Heimdall?”  It seems shock is limiting her speaking abilities to one word questions.

“The all seeing gatekeeper.”  That answer leads to a thousand more questions, but Eleanor is too overwhelmed to voice them now.

“Protection?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“He protected me?”

“So it would seem.”

Her silent weeping abruptly turns into hysterical sobbing.

“Eleanor!” He is obviously distressed and she tries to stand, but doesn’t quite make it.

“I-I’m so-sorry.  I’ll g-g-go.”  A hand on her wrist stills her escape.

“Do you wish to leave?” he asks.  Through her wet eyes his face is blurry.  She shakes her head.  “What do you require in this moment?”

The sobs make speech impossible, but she mimes a hug.  It is a poor job, but Loki’s arms come around her a moment later.  His embrace is tentative and unsure, but his arms are around her.  She crawls into his lap, tucking her face into his chest. 

The sobbing continues.  Her body is shaking but he relaxes against her, his hold firm and solid, soothing her even if it shouldn’t be.

“Why did you come here like this?” he murmurs as she clings to him.

“You know.”

“Honestly, I have no earthly idea.”

Ellie doesn’t respond and he holds her a little tighter.

“I know not what to do,” he confesses, sounding as miserable as she feels.

“About what?”

“I know not how to provide you with what you require.”

“You’re doing it, Loki,” she whispers.  “You’re doing it.”

“You saw your false family and it upset you greatly.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Shall I kill them the moment I find my magic?”

“No.”  


	14. Homeless Children

“Elle!  Open the door!”

With a groan, Ellie pulls a pillow over ears.  Part of her hoped her fake family would just disappear after the little showdown two days ago, but there is no mistaking the bossy, entitled tone of Laura Tate.  Her fake sister never was one to be deterred by personal boundaries.

Such as Ellie’s locked bedroom door.

“Wake up, little sister!” she yells as she continues to bang.  “We have places to be.  A very nice strawberry blonde with a killer body is cooking breakfast and then we need to be on our way.”

Ellie keeps her eyes firmly shut, even though sleep has eluded her for hours.  She still isn’t getting much rest, although she occasionally naps with Loki.  Tony teases her about it, but she needs all the help she can get in slumber department.

“Iron Man will let me in!  You know he will!  Open up.”

This is very familiar.  Ellie spent the majority of her youth being ploughed over by her louder, more demanding fake big sister. 

Or younger sister. 

Or whatever. 

Ellie was never particularly aggressive, not like Laura who would frequently convince Ellie to bend to her will through this sort of incessant badgering.

Laura starts singing as horribly off key as possible.  It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to Ellie’s sensitive ear and only after a few minutes, Ellie is rolling out of bed, stomping over to the door, and flinging it open to glare at the woman who hasn’t quite become a stranger in these last eight years.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Laura chirps, bending to kiss Ellie’s cheek and pushing into the room.  Ellie wipes off her cheek with the back of her hand, once more feeling like a child.  “Get dressed.  We are going on a field trip.”

Ellie shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest.  Laura pays no attention and moves to the closet to select an outfit.

“I’ve been talking to people about you.  Everyone is so closed lipped.  Guess that’s part of the whole super secret spy agency thing, but Tony Stark is a regular chatty Kathy.”

Ellie huffs, feeling betrayed.

“I get the impression that you haven’t been out much,” Laura says, pushing jeans and a t-shirt into Ellie’s chest. 

“I’ve been to the roof,” Ellie mutters. 

She doesn’t like it much up there.  Everything remains just as the Avengers left it a month ago, down to the Loki-shaped whole in the floor, and the view of a wrecked Manhattan makes her feel faint, but she closes the eyes and feels the sunshine on her face, so she goes up as often as she can stand it.

“Ellie,” Laura says, voice soft now.  “You lived in the ground for three months and then haven’t left this tower for another one.  Come with me on a field trip.  I’ll give you a present.”

Stupid Tony telling her stupid story to her stupid fake sister.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Ellie snaps.

“Oh, I think you do,” says Laura, grinning.   “Get dressed.  I’ve already cleared it with these SHIELD assholes.  We’ve got places to be.”

* * *

 

Laura cheats. 

She taunts Ellie with an acoustic guitar, refusing to hand over the instrument until Ellie agrees to go on the field trip, which she of course does.  It’s been weeks since she’s put her fingers into practice.

Being out in the wide world for the first time in months is strange.  Ellie feels small and skittish.  The sun seems too bright and New York feels too quiet.  Stark Tower was ground zero for the invasion, and most of the city blocks in its immediate vicinity remain evacuated, closed to the public as crews work to clear away the rubble.

Ellie sticks close to her fake big sister, somewhat comforted by Laura’s chatter, as much as she doesn’t want to be.  Ellie never responds and rarely listens to the actual words, but the familiar cadence of Laura’s voice makes her feel less scared and small.

They walk for what feels like a very long time, out of the evacuated zone and passed the barriers set up by the National Guard.  Although the sounds are more normal and less haunting in the parts of the city still running, there are too many people, crowding her.  Ellie doesn’t even argue when Laura wraps a strong arm around her shoulders.

“Here we are,” Laura says when they reach a school.  Ellie looks at her sister in confusion.  The building should remain abandoned for the summer for a few more weeks yet.

Gesturing with the guitar, Laura motions for Ellie to walk up the steps first.  They push through the double doors and Ellie’s eyes go wide when she takes in the activity inside.  Cots are set up in the hall and people roam around, looking busy.  Children run passed her, chasing each other into a classroom.  A cop hands a woman a coffee.  It is much too busy compared to what Ellie is used to and she shies away, turning wide, questioning eyes on Laura.

“It’s a Red Cross Shelter for people who lost their homes,” Laura says.  “I work in the city, not that you bothered to ask, and I’ve been volunteering here since it happened, changing bandages and removing stitches.  That sort of thing.”

Ellie nods numbly, looking everywhere at once.  This is the direct result of Loki’s mania, a bruised, battered, homeless population, struggling to recover.

“Why did you bring me here?” Ellie whispers, letting Laura drag her down the hall in a kind of daze.  She wonders just what her fake big sister knows about her time as Loki’s prisoner and the strange state of their relationship now.

Does Laura know of Ellie’s shame?  Of her connection to the dark god responsible for all this pain?  He caused all this, and yet she comforts him, soothes him, and helps him sleep.  And is comforted, soothed, and put to sleep in return.

“You’ll see,” Laura says, sounding far too jovial given their current location.  “Don’t look so glum, Elle.  These people are alive and resilient and don’t need your pity.”

“Then what do they need?” Ellie manages, her chest feeling heavy.

“Your voice,” Laura replies in Ellie’s ear, grinning as they enter a classroom filled with kids, at least forty of them from ages two to thirteen.  All the desks are pushed to the walls, and toys litter the carpeted floor as children play and laugh.  The older ones congregate in a corner, chatting while others watch younger siblings.  A couple adults linger near the chalkboard at the front, keeping a weather eye. 

“Hi, guys!” Laura says brightly.

They are greeted with a chorus of “hi, Dr. Green.”

Laura Green.  That must be her new name.  Ellie wonders about Mr. Green and then decides she doesn’t care.

“How are we doing?”

The children shout at her, sounding happy, but Ellie can’t make out anything distinct.

“Good,” Laura says, handing Ellie the guitar case.  “This is my little sister, Miss Tate.  What do we say to Miss Tate?”

“Hi, Miss Tate!” they yell together. 

Ellie is in shock.  This is so much.  Too much.  These children are Loki’s victims.

“Hi,” Ellie somehow manages.  “Call me Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie!” they say again.

“Okay, well I have doctor things to do,” says Laura.  “Ellie here is a great guitar player, but she needs a little help with her singing.”  Ellie rolls her eyes, but similes at the awfully cute kids.  “Do you think you can sing with her?  Help her out?”

There is more indistinct yelling but their message is clear.  They want music.  The adults in charge organize the kids into a big circle.

“Get out the guitar and sing for them,” Laura instructs as she backs out the door.  “Have fun!”

Ellie fumbles around for a minute before joining the circle.  Bright eyes and drippy noses surround her, and she feels as though she won’t be able to give them any words at all so instead she strums out a few simple cords.

The kids all know the words of _Mary had a Little Lamb._

* * *

 

“I go in every other day,” Laura says as they leave the school turned evacuation center two and a half hours later.  “Would you like to come?”

Ellie nods, letting the guitar bang against her thigh as they walk through the living, breathing streets of New York.

“No one will tell us much,” Laura murmurs, serious for the first time today.  “I know you were taken captive by the same being who did all this.  That’s what these SHIELD people are always saying, ‘being.’  Never man.  It’s ‘ _being_.”

The fake big sister is blessedly quiet for three whole blocks.  Laura has her medical bag slung over her shoulder while Ellie has her new guitar. 

It was like this growing up, too.  Laura and her love for science, joining biology club and winning the approval of Maureen.  Ellie and her voice, getting special permission to join choir, band, and orchestra simultaneously but fighting with her fake mother constantly over her grades in academic classes.

Look at them now.

As they walk, Ellie comes to an unpleasant conclusion.  She thinks of Loki’s hate for his adoptive brother and Thor’s desperation to do anything for the man he still loves like a brother, regardless of heritage.

Laura is obnoxious in her perfection, but she always loved Eleanor.  Growing up, she was bossy and over-achieving, and despite Ellie’s extreme talent, Laura threw long shadows that left Ellie in the dark, but Laura truly loved her.

None of it was Laura’s fault.  She was lied to equally by their parents, only finding out about the adoption when Ellie did, yet she never wavered in her conviction that the two girls remained and would always remain, sisters.

Laura’s always tried.  Ellie doesn’t want her pain to turn to such deadly poison like it did in Loki, so maybe she can try too.

“You live in New York?” Ellie murmurs.  The surprise on Laura’s face is apparent, but her expression quickly turns to joy with the simple fact that Ellie is actively engaging in a conversation.

“Brooklyn,” Laura explains.  “My hospital is like seven blocks away from here, but Henry wanted a house with a yard and the whole bit for the little guy.”

She pats her belly.

“A boy?”

“Yes,” Laura says with a wistful sigh.

“That’ll be a first.”

The Tates are infested with women, her fake father proving to be the only exception.

“I know!  I’m totally out of my depth, but we’ll figure it out.  Henry is one of four boys so we’ll do okay.”

“Henry Green,” Ellie muses.  “You’re husband.”

“Our one year anniversary is in ten days,” Laura explains.  “I wrote you a bunch of letters, sent a bunch of invitations, even tried your old email, but you had no idea, huh?”

“No idea,” Ellie whispers, feeling so unbearably guilty it makes her skin itch. 

“Well, you missed out on being the maid of honor.  Please, try to contain your disappointment.”  Ellie grins at Laura’s sarcasm.

“What does Henry Green do?”

“He’s a writer, actually.  A novelist.  His last work was quite the hipster favorite.  I’ll get you a copy.  You’ll like it.  His writing style is strange but very funny.”

“A writer, huh?  Bet Mom loves that.”

Laura laughs.  “I think she’s only forgiven me because of the little guy.  Occasionally she still mentions sons of doctor friends she wants me to meet, but I think she just does it to annoy me at this point.  I met Henry half way through med school by accident at a coffee shop.  He was a reporter back then, and basically became my sugar daddy for awhile.”

Ellie smiles.  “I think… I think I’d like to meet him.  I think.”

Laura squeals and hugs Ellie, who stays tense.  “Sorry, sorry,” Laura says, wiping away a tear.  “I know, too much.”

Laura talks about Henry until they get to the border of the evacuated zone.  The National Guard has barriers set up and it makes Ellie panic.  If she can’t get back to Stark Tower where will she go?  Home with Laura?

The thought is abhorrent.

“Hello,” says her fake big sister, digging through her bag.  “I’m Laura Green and this is Eleanor Tate.  We’re cleared for Stark Tower.  Here is my ID, and hold on… Let me find it.  Here’s my sister’s.”

Ellie blinks rapidly as Laura hands over the familiar wallet to the man in uniform.  The memory is unclear, it feels so long ago, but she remembers going into an alley after the show to smoke a cigarette (her last cigarette) and leaving her purse in the backstage room. 

“I made them give me all your stuff when they called to tell us they found you,” Laura explains when the commandos wave them through the barrier.  “I am still your emergency contact, after all.”

“Did you know?  About me being… whatever it is I am?”

“Nope,” Laura says.  “Not until you went missing and Mom freaked out. She thought some strange agency took you on a mission to discover a cure for aging or something.  Guess she wasn’t that wrong, given what SHIELD wants to do with you.  Although at least they are asking, so that’s something.”

“I want to know what I am, Laura.”  And she does, but at the same time she doesn’t.  Regardless, she doesn’t think SHIELD is the way to go about finding out.

The fake big sister sighs.

“Yeah.  Okay.  I get that, but do you really want to get more involved with these guys?  I mean, they waited over three weeks to call us and let us know you aren’t dead,” Laura says, obviously frustrated.  They are less than a block away now.

“If they’d asked me I wouldn’t have let them call you at all,” Ellie mutters, still angry with Fury and the rest who are attempting to dictate the terms of her life.

“Okay, maybe they aren’t so bad,” Laura replies with a rueful smile.  “God, I missed you, baby sister.”

Ellie hums, making a noncommittal sound.

“Is he here?  The _being_ who took you?”

“Yes,” Ellie whispers.

“Is he… like you?”

“No, not really.  He thought he was, once.”

Laura blinks in confusion, but doesn’t push when Ellie chooses not to elaborate.

“What… happened?  While you were away?”

_While I was away.  What a charming way to put it._

Ellie stays silent.

“You can talk to me about it.”  Laura doesn’t let Ellie enter the lobby. “There are rumors, you know.  About you and the… being.”

Ellie just glares.

“Okay.  Too much too soon.  I get it.”

Ellie moves inside, but Laura doesn’t follow.  She raises an eyebrow at her fake big sister in question.

“I have to get to my shift at the hospital,” Laura explains.  “I know this is out of my way but after missing you like crazy for eight years, there is no way I’m giving up a chance to spend any time with you.  I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, okay?”

“I can meet you there.”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?  I’ll be back.”

And then she’s gone.

* * *

 

“You walked all that way?” Tony Stark yells, pausing with a tumbler of scotch halfway to his lips when Pepper explains just where Ellie has been all morning. 

Ellie sits in a chair by the window, curled up with a book in her lap, but it doesn’t distract her.  Still, staring at words with unseeing eyes was preferable to Tony, Pepper, Bruce Banner, and Captain America all descending upon her solitude.

“It was like half an hour,” Ellie murmurs.  It was actually a very long half an hour.  The day has left her shaken.  She got a front row view to Loki’s destruction and the trauma of that, combined with the decision to try with her fake big sister, has left Ellie exhausted and nauseous.

“She was with her sister,” Pepper puts in.  “They went to go volunteer at one of the evacuation shelters.”

“New York is dangerous right now, Eleanor,” snaps the usually good-humored Iron Man.  It’s the first time he’s actually used her name. “Your boyfriend wrecked up the place pretty good only a few weeks ago and people are desperate.”

“I thought I was your guest, not your prisoner,” Ellie replies, slamming her book closed in her lap.  Everyone looks at her with shock.  She is normally so quiet and when she does speak, it is never with anger, but she has plenty of reasons to be angry. 

SHEILD doesn’t trust her and that she can understand, given her complicated relationship with the God of Lies, but they whisper their disapproval behind her back, calling her familiar names.  These people are liars and killers.  Who are they to judge her actions?  She is just trying to survive.

And she isn’t even human and she is extremely tried of everyone telling her what to do all the goddamn time.

“You are totally missing the point,” Tony says, downing his drink and reaching for another.  “Look, I’m all for you getting out.  It’s probably good for you, but it’s not safe out there.  Next time you’ll take a car.”

“You want me to drive?”  She hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car in _years_.

Tony Stark snorts into his scotch.  “What are we?  Peasants?” he jokes.  “You’ll take a car and a driver.”

Ellie is a grown woman of thirty-two years (apparently) and for one moment she considers arguing, but she really did feel so unsafe out there in the world.  A car would help so she just nods.

“Good,” says Tony, blinking a lot as if he is surprised to have someone agree with him so easily.  He pours Banner a drink and the unassuming scientist takes a seat as far away from Ellie as possible.  She feels guilty for flinching every time he moves, but the enormous green rage monster haunts her dreams.  If she closes her eyes she can still feel the heat of his breath when he roars or see the way he threw Loki around several floors above their heads.

“How was it out there?”

It takes Ellie a beat too long to realize that Captain America, or Steve Rodgers, is directly addressing her.  Of all the Avengers, Steve Rodgers distrusts Ellie the most.  Maybe it is his ridged morality or his seemingly eternal virginity, but extreme disapproval is written all over his face whenever he looks at her.

Which is far too frequently for Ellie’s comfort.

“Very sad,” she whispers, studying the world’s first super hero.  He is classically handsome but Ellie wants to stick her hands in his blond hair and mess up those perfectly combed locks.  “But oddly hopeful.  I sang with all these kids today, and they’d lost everything, some even lost parents, and they were so happy to just sit around with me and sing.”

Steve Rodgers nods thoughtfully as Tony and Dr. Banner bicker over their progress on the device that will take Loki home.  Pepper gets a phone call and excuses herself.   Ellie considers crawling into bed even though it’s not quite six.

“So that’s your thing right?” Rodgers says, continuing the conversation. 

Ellie stares at him blankly, not understanding the question.  The world’s first super hero blushes under her gaze, making Ellie crack a smile.  There is something so innocent about the warrior.  His unique quality of a time long gone makes him endearing, despite the way he’s treated Ellie.

“You… um… sing?”

Ellie nods.

“That’s why Loki took you in the first place?” His eyes get hard, making Ellie really want to be alone in her room.

Or locked away with the killer responsible for the deaths parents who children she sang with today.

Fuck, what is _wrong_ with her?

“I guess,” she mutters.  In the last few weeks she’s spent a lot of time thinking about why Loki chose her.  Yes, she can sing.  Yes, her voice soothes him, but given all they have in common, it seems too coincidental that he would take her just because she sings pretty.  Some days, when Loki blindly seeks out her comfort and lets her pull him back from the Void, she thinks that he sensed something in her.  On a deeply subconscious level, Loki recognized that she was a kindred spirit, an equally lost being of similarly ambiguous heritage.  Maybe he took her because he recognized that in her.

But maybe he just wanted to fuck her again.

“It must be pretty impressive,” Steve says.  This conversation is awkward.  Ellie watches him warily as he somewhat desperately attempts to continue speaking with her.  She wonders what changed in him.  Before today, all she got from Captain America was distrust and disgust.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she agrees.  Steve chuckles at her lack of modesty, but she’s never had a problem truthfully acknowledging her talent.

“Would you sing for me sometime?” he asks, surprising her thoroughly.  After her time with Loki, the simple request seems oddly intimate.

“Maybe,” she murmurs.  “If Stark ever gets a piano in this dump.”

The man in question flips her off from across the room, but continues to lean against his bar and science out with Dr. Banner.

“Oh, okay,” mutters Steve, disappointed.  Silence stretches between them, making them both uncomfortable.  “Miss Tate, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” she says, curious.  “And call me Ellie.”

“Ellie?”

“Or Eleanor.  Whatever.”

“Ellie, would you do me the honor of attending church with me this Sunday?”

Of all the requests she anticipated getting from one of the Avengers, this was never even on her radar. 

She grew up going to church and Sunday school.  It was with the children’s choir she first discovered a love for singing and she sang with the congregation up until her fake father died.

But he did die and she stopped using her voice for nearly a year and she hasn’t been back since.

“Look, hear me out,” Steve says, putting his hands up as he sees the no written on her face.  “I know it’s fallen out of fashion these days and there are guys parading around claiming to be gods all over the place, but where I come from it’s the place to be during times like these.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.  She’s from the south.  Going to church certainly has not fallen out of fashion where she comes from.

“You’re lost, Ellie.  We all are, a little lost, and I just… I’d really like you to come with me.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion as it becomes clear exactly why Captain Morality is speaking to her now. 

“You want to save me,” she spits out, glaring at him.  Steve Rodgers doesn’t even wince.

“It’s not up to me to save anyone,” he replies.  “Not like that.  I could pull you out of a burning building, keep you physically safe, but the rest is on you.”

She relaxes slightly.

“Anyone with eyes can see that you’re a mess.  A ghost of a person.”  His words sting, but she can’t deny the truth in the statement.  “Why not try anything that might be able to help?”

Ellie stares at him for a long moment.

“The choir better be fucking awesome.”

Steve’s smile stretches from ear to ear.

* * *

 

“Lady Eleanor—“

“Not today, Thor.”  He accosts her the second she gets to the lobby, stepping out of the elevator she planned on stepping into.

“It has been three days.  He is in need of your presence.”

It has been three days since she last visited Loki in his prison.  Each day, Thor beseeches her on behalf of his brother but she just got back from a few hours with the little singers and she just can’t.

“Do you know who else is in need, oh God of Thunder?  The kids he left parentless.  Parents he left childless!  What about them?”  Today at the shelter was hard.  A father of three of Ellie’s little singers died in the hospital, succumbing to his wounds.  The left side of his body was crushed by a falling chunk of building.

Thor’s only indication of shock at her outburst is a slight tick in his jaw.  He follows her impassively back into the elevator, blocking her with his body when she attempts to press the button to her floor.

“I am not blind to my brother’s faults or the consequences of his destructive madness,” Thor says, voice as low and serious as she’s ever heard it.  Her eyes go wide, and for the first time, Ellie finds herself fearing the God of Thunder.  “But as you yourself said, Lady Eleanor, simple punishment will not prevent this from occurring again.  Loki needs rehabilitation.  He needs to find his mind and he needs you.  Abandoning him now would do nothing to assist those he hurt.”

A few tears escape Ellie’s eyes, and she feels as though she is crumbling under Thor’s bright blue gaze.  The color is very similar to Ellie’s own eyes, and she realizes for the fist time that she is indeed distantly, distantly related to the god before her. 

“It’s good practice,” she murmurs.  “He needs to get used to me not being around.  That’s the way it will be when you go home.”

“Is it truly what you want?  Do you no longer wish to spend time with him?”

Ellie doesn’t say anything.  She doesn’t like her own answer so she keeps her words to herself.

And she doesn’t protest when Thor pushes the button that will take them down to the level holding Loki.

* * *

 

She doesn’t go through the familiar doors, but veers off into the observation room first.  Needing a moment to gather her strength, Ellie watches.  He is back in his corner, folded into a little ball and sitting so motionless he could very well be a statue.

“He has moved not in seventeen hours,” Thor murmurs, staring sadly at his brother on the screen.

Ellie sobs a little and experiences a whole new kind of guilt.  Every feeling she has for the god in the corner is so complicated and so confusing.  She hates him, but she doesn’t at the same time.  Not at all.

Without a word, Ellie moves back to the doors.  She doesn’t even glance at either guard, but Thor must nod at them behind her because they let her in without comment. 

“Proceed with caution, Lady Tate,” Thor says.  A totally unnecessary warning, but Ellie nods anyway as the doors slide closed behind her.

She just watches him for a moment, his eyes unseeing, not a muscle moving.

It is just so painful.  Everything is just far too painful.

“Loki,” she manages to croak out through her tears.  She wipes impatiently at her damp cheeks.

He recoils slightly at the sound of his name before once more becoming a motionless statue.

“Loki,” she tries again, taking a tentative step towards him.  In this state he is so skittish and unpredictable, he could easily lash out in violence.

His brilliant green eyes lock on hers.  His lips move, but no words come out, just a sort of keening that might have almost been her name.

“Hi,” says Ellie, taking one more step.  She’ll get no closer until she’s sure he is seeing her, not some horror from the Void sent to amplify all his emotional pain and shred his body.

“El…”

He doesn’t get the whole thing out, but this first bit, combined with the way he is looking at her, is enough to convince Ellie that Loki knows who she is and won’t lash out if she goes to him.

Last time she visited, he was so much better.  He had his mind, even if he was offering to kill her fake family and threatening to slay Tony.  The episodes were getting fewer and farther between.  He flickers in and out of sanity, but just three days without Eleanor and look where he is.

What will happen when they lock him away on Asgard?

She closes the distance between them, but lets out a surprised squeak when he stretches out his legs and latches onto her waist, pulling her into his lap.  She straddles his thighs as his face finds her neck.

Although all his broken bones seem to be mended, the cuts and bruises on his face from the Hulk and his own hands remain.  Maybe he ran out of magic to heal these minor scrapes.  She hopes all his magic is working to fix his mind.

“Are you real?” he whispers, accented voice rough from disuse and confusion. 

And so the familiar questions begin.

“Yes,” she assures him.

“Am I real?”

“Yes.”

“Damn,” he says, so succinctly it has a desperate laugh leaving Ellie’s chest.  His calm is unexpected, but his confusion is not.

“You are real, Loki,” she whispers, lips against his temple.  “And I’m real, too.  I’m Eleanor.”

“My sweet songbird.”

“That’s right.”  This seems like a bad time to get in the argument about belonging to him.

“I thought I invented you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut.  “You didn’t.”

“But you hate me. I am a monster.”

She pauses, wondering if her answer to this familiar statement has changed after her time singing with the homeless children.

“No, I don’t hate you,” she says, hating herself a little for this unpleasant truth.  “And you don’t have to be a monster.  You have to choose not to be like that.”

This is obviously too much for his poor, lost mind.  She can feel him frowning against her neck.

“I thought I invented you,” he says again.

She just sighs and strokes his hair.

Although this exact situation has repeated itself many times in the last few weeks, nothing about his episodes of psychosis could be routine.  If he were a human, a mortal, he would be treated with a combination of drugs and talk therapy.  She’s seen it work before but something about the image of Loki in a group session is so absurd she actually smiles through her tears.

“Eleanor?” he asks, sitting back against the wall.  With unsure movements, he reaches out to touch her cheeks with his fingertips.  His calm is not such a wondrous thing and she sees now that it can be attributed to his total exhaustion, rather than a quieting of his mind.

“Yeah?” she whispers.

“Where are we?”

This is always one of his first questions.  Although he is more lucid now, he is no less confused.

“Stark Tower,” she answers.

“Because I failed,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as the events of the last few weeks come back to him.

“I’m glad you failed.”

Loki gives her a withering look, his hands dropping from her face to his lap.  Ellie reaches out to fiddle with his fingers.

“How many times have we had this conversation?” he asks, continuing to frown at her.

She just shrugs in response.

“Eleanor,” he snaps.  His impatience makes her smile.

“Seven,” she replies, watching as Loki impassively allows her to play with his fingers. 

With a frustrated sigh, Loki lets his head fall back into the wall behind him.  He whacks it again, alarming Ellie.  She catches his head in her hands before he can smack it a third time.

“Hey, hey,” she says, cradling the back of his head to prevent any damage and to stop his self-destructive movements.  “Be careful with that.  It’s fragile.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, she wishes she could stuff them back in. She winces as that look of absolute rage clouds his features.

“ _Fragile_?” he spits out, saying the word like a curse.  “Fragile!”

Ellie sighs, bracing herself to weather the storm.  His hands find her hips, tightening to the point just shy of pain.  She bites her lip and watches his face.

“I am Loki of Asgard,” he hisses, eyes like slits.  “God of Mischief.  Agent of Chaos.  I possess more knowledge in a mere fraction of this mind you dare to call _fragile_ than you could hope to come by in dozens of lifetimes.  My intellect is beyond your pathetic abilities of comprehension, mortal. I could crush the life—“

“Half mortal,” she corrects.  Loki blinks at her for a moment as if he is not sure what is happening as she interrupts.

“What?”

“You can’t call me mortal anymore.  All evidence points to half mortal.  You’ll have to call me half mortal now when you want to insult me with your superiority complex,” she corrects.

“I see my failure as of late is not limited to my plans to rule,” he mutters like a petulant child.  Ellie works very hard to keep from smiling.  His grip on her hips turns into more of a caress.  “Your insolence is astounding.  In my weakness, you’ve grown bold.”

She considers pointing out that _fragile_ and _weak_ are synonyms, but thinks better of it.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers.  For a moment she thinks maybe he is slipping away again, but his gaze his clear as he cocks his head to the side to study her.

“Helping,” she says as if it should be obvious.

“Why?”

She shrugs.

“Eleanor.”

“We have too much in common,” she admits even as she wonders if she’ll be able to keep doing this.  She’s seen the result of his destruction and as she sits here in his lap, her anger boils.  It’s worse with the little singers, when she can see their sad, tired eyes.  She doesn’t know if she can keep coming here and live with herself. 

“You were not here,” he says, voice calm and shockingly sane.  It sounds as though he is having some sort of revelation and Eleanor worries that maybe he actually can pick up on her thoughts.  Or maybe it is just her expression.  In the bunker he became a pro at reading her face.  “You did not come.”

With a heavy sigh she gets up, needing distance from the dark god.  Three little kids without homes lost their father today.  Before they loved to sing, but they’ve lost their father and the grief of that will silence their voices, like it stole Ellie’s.

Loki lets out a frustrated sort of growl, voicing his displeasure at her departure.

“Where were you, Eleanor?”  He studies his fingernails and it’s somewhat heartbreaking to see him struggle and fail to disguise his distress.  It is such a stark contrast to his persona in the bunker.

“I was around.”

“I asked for you,” he says, dropping his gaze from Eleanor’s eyes to her feet. 

She’s wracked with guilt.  It festers in her stomach and seeps outwards from there through her veins.  Leaving him alone for three days did nothing to help her little singers, it served to only add to the guilt.  She didn’t think it was possible to feel worse about her role in all this than when she’s with her little singers, but Loki is asking why she wasn’t here and it feels as though her insides have been changed to worms, crawling, wiggly, guilty worms.

Somehow her presence helps and in this moment the responsibility of that is crushing her.

“I…” She takes a deep breath.  “You need to get used to me not being around,” she murmurs.  “Soon you’ll be back on Asgard and I won’t be there.”

Loki shifts on the mattress as if he is going to stand but he winces and stays seated.  “There is nothing you could do to ease the… discomfort I will experience upon my return to Asgard,” he says, green eyes boring into hers  “There is no adequate preparation, Eleanor, and I would choose to see you while it is still an option, no matter the consequences when I depart.  You think our abrupt separation will have negative effect on my mind?  Then let it be so.”

He is honest.  He is earnest, and Eleanor does not want him to go but he is responsible for her homeless, parentless singers.  She is torn in two and ends up blurting everything out about Laura and the evacuation shelter and all the tiny humans she sings with.

What he did to their little lives is unforgivable. 

It all comes pouring out of her mouth, the three little singers who lost their dad, and Loki watches impassively.  There is not even a slight twitch of guilt or wince of pain.  He doesn’t _feel_ anything and only sighs when she finishes.

“And what would you have me do about this, Eleanor?” he asks.

She wants him to undo everything.  She wants him to snap his fingers and rewind time, listening to her in the bunker and calling off his destructive plans.

“I want you to be remorseful,” she says instead, getting a little hysterical.  “I want you to feel something for these people!  You made them like us, Loki.  You broke their families.”

Loki sighs again, rubbing his temples for a moment before looking at her again. 

“I am a selfish creature, Eleanor.”  His voice is quiet and painfully tired.  “And my mind is not my own.  Already I feel too much and there is no room for me to take on the things you care about.  Before meeting you I would never even try, but everything I do is out of character when you are involved so who can really say what I would do if I were myself.”

Eleanor cannot look away and she does not know how to feel, so she just continues with the guilt.  It is familiar.

“I see things that are not so,” he continues.  “I hear things.  Even now, the mad titan’s laughter is ringing in my ears and it has been for the last seventeen hours, nineteen minutes, and fourteen seconds.”

Eleanor’s eyes go wide and she glances around as if she can see Loki auditory delusion.  Loki doesn’t appear to notice.  For this Eleanor is glad.

“I am wracked with confusion and have nothing to offer you, nor do I have any desire to give you what you wish in this regard,” he says, frowning down at his hands resting in his lap.

Eleanor can do nothing but gape at him as Loki lets his head rest against the wall at his back, gently thing time. He gives her a sad smile.

“I am so very tired, Eleanor,” he murmurs.  “I can change nothing, nor do I feel some great compulsion to do so at this moment.  You must choose.  Go, and do not return.  This action would be no great shock.”

His eyes close but Eleanor remains frozen and unthinking.  Long moments of silence stretch, and Loki appears to sleep.  She brushes away her tears with the back of her hand.  When he tilts his head up, opening his eyes, he cannot hide his own surprise.  She did not go, never to return, not yet, anyway.

“Or,” he continues as if he never stopped speaking.  “You could choose to remain here.  It could be possible to do both, to sing with your children and comfort the monster.”

She blinks, wondering if there is room in her for all this. 

“Choose, Eleanor,” he says, wanting her decision now.

Ellie turns away, facing the door and ready to leave him alone, because she’s seen the result of his actions and there isn’t another choice. 

Three steps towards the door and Loki makes a distressed little sound.

Eleanor is a selfish creature too and she doesn’t want to leave.

“Eleanor?”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she asks a God she doesn’t even really believe in for forgiveness.  She turns back around and rushes to him before she can think about it.

“Eleanor?” he whispers, blinking down as she settles at his side, laying her head on his shoulder.  His is blinking rapidly, his mouth drooping slightly.  “What are you doing?”

“Choosing.”  She kisses him, gently and so quickly he doesn’t have time to respond.  Putting her arms around him, Eleanor settles against his side and closes her eyes.  She’s tired too.  “Loki, I’m choosing.”


	15. All Together Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very thankful for each and every one of you, who took the time to read this bad boy.

“Bow before me and lay tribute at my feet,” Tony Stark says, bursting into the kitchen where Ellie and Steve are sharing a mostly silent breakfast. 

Since church two days ago, the she’s spent a good deal of time with the world’s first super hero.  Like Ellie, Steve has little to but wait.  Dr. Banner and Tony work hard to get the gods home.  Natasha and Barton are busy with Fury, doing whatever it is SHIELD does on a day to day basis.  Thor rarely leaves the viewing room while Pepper has Stark Industries to run.  Ellie is only allowed to spend so much time with Loki. 

In the first few days after the battle for New York City, Steve attempted to help with the clear up and search for survivors, but it someone told someone and the press swarmed the barricades, his presence more of a hindrance than a help.  In some ways, Steve is more of a prisoner here than Ellie.

“You sound like Loki,” she tells Tony, absently stirring her green tea.

Tony gives her a withering look before taking the seat next to her and stealing a piece of bacon right off her plate.

“I have solved your each and every problem,” he informs her, grinning widely. Ellie scowls at him in response.  He is well aware of her irritation at everyone trying to tell her what to do. 

“Cocky as ever, Stark,” mutters Steve.

“What did you do?” demands Ellie.

“I solved all your problems,” he repeats through a mouthful of bacon.  “I am your savior along with a little astrophysicist named Jane Foster.”

Ellie blinks in confusion.  The name is familiar, although she can’t place where she’s heard it before. How an astrophysicist could possibly be the key to figuring out her life once Loki gets taken away is a mystery.

“Thor’s girl?” Steve asks, sounding skeptical.

Ah, yes. There it is.

“The one and only,” Tony says, nodding.  “She’s flying in today.  Should be here in oh, approximately six hours and thirty six minutes.”

Ellie hides her smile in her mug of coffee, thinking of Loki’s freaky ability to know exactly how much time has gone by.

“Why is Jane Foster Ellie’s savior?” Steve asks with a barely stifled sigh.  Ellie flashes Steve a grateful smile.  She’s already lost interest the blather coming out of Tony Stark’s mouth, although it might be important.

She has absolutely no desire to go back to her small, lonely life in her shit apartment, but signing her whole life away to SHIELD is certainly not an option.

“I am Ellie’s savior,” Stark insists.

“Tony!” Ellie snaps.

“Okay, okay.  So I’ve spent the last week negotiating a SHIELD contract for Stark Industries to repair the Bifrost,” he explains, obviously incredibly pleased with himself.

Ellie and Steve share a look, having no idea what Iron Man is going on about.  He then launches into an equally incomprehensible spiel about Einstein-Rosenberg bridges and a bunch of other nonsense. 

“English, Stark,” says Steve, snapping his fingers.

“Thor destroyed the thing that allows for transportation between worlds when Reindeer Games went all genocidal,” Tony explains with a heavy sigh.  Ellie winces.  “We are going to help repair it from this end.”

“I thought you were working with the Tesseract to figure out how to get Thor and Loki back to Asgard,” says Steve.  “Why do you need the bridge?”

“We are.  That will be done in just a couple days,” Tony says, waving a dismissive hand.  “This is a long term thing.  Everyone is spooked by this elusive _him_ Loki keeps babbling about.  SHIELD has Thor meeting with all sorts of dignitaries, signing all sorts of treaties and pledges.  If more aliens come to Earth, Asgard will have our back, but they need a way to get here.”

“This all sounds pretty confidential,” Steve says with obvious discomfort.

Tony shrugs.  “My building.  I know everything.”

“What does all this have to do with Jane Foster?  My savior?” Ellie asks.

“As of yesterday, she is a Stark Industries employee, heading the Bifrost Project,” Tony continues.  “And she’s in need of a new assistant.”

There is a beat of silence.  Tony frowns, obviously surprised that no one is bowing down to lay tribute at his feet.

“You want Ellie to be the new assistant?” Steve finally asks.

“Yup.”

“I barely finished high school and science was never exactly my thing,” Ellie mumbles.

“Oh, I know,” Tony says.  “I’ve seen your transcripts.  You play a lot of instruments.  And Berklee School of Music, huh?  That’s impressive, even if you didn’t end up going.”

There is really nothing for Ellie to do but glare.

“This would be mostly clerical stuff anyway.  Jane is a genius, but according to her last assistant, she sucks at organization.”

“What happened to the last assistant?” Steve asks.

“Promoted.”

“How does this help me at all?” Ellie demands, losing patience.

“Well, my plan was cleared by Fury, assuming you accept my job offer.  You wouldn’t be directly under the thumb of SHIELD, but close enough to keep an eye on.  You could still do the whole, medical lab rat bit if you so choose.  Plus, you’d be in the know,” Tony says, once more grinning.

Ellie stares down into her coffee because this is the most appealing aspect of Tony’s proposition, even if Steve is blinking in confusion.  Ellie would remain connected to this world of the Avengers.   Ellie would have a direct line to Asgard.  She will see Thor the moment he gets back down to Earth.  Thor will have information on the fate of his brother.

“In the know?” Steve asks.

“Madonna here will get to keep taps on her evil boyfriend,” Tony explains.  Everything about Steve, from his facial expression to his posture and the vibes he is exuding, coveys just how much he doesn’t like the idea of Ellie keeping tabs on Loki.

But she’s invested now.  She chose.

They are going to lock him up and his psychosis will get worse and she has to know his fate.

“So what do you think, Ellie?”  Tony asks.

She just shrugs.

“Just be in the lounge around five,” Tony says, standing to strut out of the kitchen.  “Come meet your savior.  The other one.  Who’s not me.”

* * *

 

He lies flat on his back, the thin mattress doing little to keep the bumps of his spine from digging into the concrete floor beneath.  Eleanor covered him with the blanket when she arrived nearly an hour ago.  The soft, warm comforter is filled with feathers and is by far the most luxurious item in his cell.

On occasion Eleanor smiles and refers to this one comfort as his security blanket.  He does not understand the humor.

Now Eleanor sits at his side, not touching him but close enough that he could reach for her easily.  Although their time is rapidly running out – Thor says they will depart in a matter of days – and he should be touching her as much as possible, Loki is too tired to move.  The utter exhaustion prevents him from placing his hand on her thigh, but she is close, quietly strumming a guitar and blessing him with her voice.

It is enough.

Today is what Eleanor refers to as a good day. 

He knows where he is and how he came to be here.  His mind is clear and he is aware that the titan’s laughter – cruel and disturbing as ever – is delusion only, one he can ignore with ease, especially with Eleanor singing quietly at his side.  It is possible to understand the false world spun by the titan and he sees the differences between the visions of the Tesseract and actual life.

Still, knowing does not make it any easier when Eleanor does not smile for him the way she did in the visions, the way she would if she loved him.

Eleanor calls this a good day but with the clarity comes more agony.

The fear and confusion of his delusions are somewhat preferable to the sharp, crippling pain of remembrance. 

Eleanor also says this level of extreme lethargy is a symptom of something the Midgardians call depression.

Much of what Eleanor says is stupid.

He is still on the mattress as Eleanor sings, stewing in his hatred.  He hates his false family and himself in equal measure.  He hates his failure, even if he can summon no real disappointment that Midgard will not be his responsibility.  He hates Eleanor because she smiles at him wrong, because he needs her despite this.

But just last week Eleanor chose to stay with him while he remains here within her reach and he has no desire to hate Eleanor.

He will save his hatred for Asgard.  Perhaps hating her there will ease the woe of leaving her here.

By simply lying here on his back it is impossible to set aside his hate so he seeks out a distraction, despite the exhaustion that has crippled him all morning.

“Eleanor,” he says.  She jumps slightly, perhaps thinking he was asleep.  “You possess immense beauty.”

His words shock Eleanor, and her fingers falter on the strings of her guitar.

“For a half mortal,” he quickly qualifies.

“Thank you.”

“Have I told you this before?”

“Once.”

“Only once?”

Eleanor nods.

“Well, that is the real tragedy here.”

With an irritated huff, Eleanor discards the instrument in favor of crossing her arms over her chest to scowl at him.  Every two days she sings with forty homeless children, some without parents, all at his hand, and he is claiming the real tragedy here has to do with the lack of compliments he’s given her in their time together.

Even with the choice made, she has not stopped being angry with him, nor does he expect her too.

“Do not look at me in such a way,” he says with a smirk, turning slightly to face her. “I know you are thinking of your homeless children.”

“We should call them _your_ homeless children,” Eleanor murmurs.

“You should be thinking of only me,” he insists.

“Oh, believe me,” she says with a humorless chuckle.  “I do think of you when I’m with the homeless children.  Constantly.”

Loki’s eyes narrow as he sits up, crossing his long legs.  There is tension in Eleanor, and after glowering her for a moment he forces himself to calm.  Fighting with her will do nothing to cool his misplaced rage.

“In a few days time the Man of Iron and Dr. Green Rage Monster will have completed a means for Thor to drag me back to Asgard, correct?” he asks, as if the matter is of no great import.

Eleanor is not fooled.  It is the furrow between his eyebrows that gives him away, along with the way he studies his nails.  If he were less exhausted he would be alarmed by the way she seems to truly know him.

“Correct,” she replies, frowning.  In this moment she looks so distraught.  Her sadness evaporates the last of his simmering hate.

“Come here, Eleanor,” he says, using the commanding voice that never fails to send a shiver of anticipation up her spine.  He knows.  He’s felt it in her.

For a moment Eleanor works her lip between her teeth and Loki fears that she will reject him, that this will be the time she says no and stays away.  It would indicate that she has finally gained some fragment of wisdom.

But then his little songbird is on the move, pushing the guitar aside and shuffling towards him on her knees.  With hands on her hips, she stares down at him expectantly as he smirks up at her. 

“Tell me, my sweet songbird,” he croons, voice absolutely dripping with sin.  When he reaches out to palm her stomach underneath the fabric of her loose t-shirt, her breath hitches.  “Will you miss me when I go?”

She simply shrugs.

“Eleanor.”

She bites her lip and begrudgingly nods.

His responding smile is shockingly genuine.  He surprises himself, and Eleanor as well, if the hitch in her breath is any indication.  But then it is gone.  He will not allow his dependence to grow.

And this, the way she seems to choose him over and over is far beyond his ability to comprehend.

 “Why?” He tosses aside the blanket and uncrosses his legs, stretching them out and pulling Ellie to kneel between them.

“Beats me,” she whispers, willingly coming closer.

Again, just when it feels as though he will fly into a rage, his whole facade crumbles.  With a desperate whine, he pulls her close.  Their chests are pressed together and their gazes are even.  Eleanor’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

“ _Why?_ ” he whispers.

She pushes his disheveled hair off his forehead, gently massaging his scalp with her fingertips.

“I don’t really know,” she whispers.  “You ripped me from my life, beat me up, attempted to steal the very essence of my being.”

Loki is unable to meet her gaze.  He even winces.  It is more remorse than he has felt thus far.

“I did not attempt to steal the very essence of your being.  I was simply testing the strength of your father’s protective magic,” he mutters.  It seems important that she not condemn him on this one point.

“You failed to tell me about my birth father.  You decimated this city in only a few hours,” she continues.  He is uncomfortable with this truth and does not like the very apparent fact that he’s hurt her.  “You tore apart families and ruined lives, but… I will miss you.  You are beautiful and broken and we are kindred spirits.”

Loki musters a little pride and lifts his face to hers in order to give her what he hopes is an intimidating glare.  “You dare compare yourself to a god?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, totally unimpressed by his little outburst.

“I’ll miss you, Loki,” she repeats. “I’m a fool who will miss you.”

Loki is quiet for a drawn out moment, and Eleanor stays completely still.  She offers no real explanations, but perhaps she has none.

“We have only a few days left before I’m locked away, thrown to the mercies of the Allfather.  I would rather you not be cross with me in these final moments,” he murmurs, fingers pressing into her spine.

“How would you rather spend these final moments?”

Loki is pleasantly surprised to realize that she teases him and he smirks with delight.

“Why do you insist on clothing yourself in the manner of a man?” he whispers, teeth grazing the shell of her ear as one hand snakes up the seam of her ridiculous blue pants.  Her hands tighten in his hair and she lets her eyes drift closed. 

Both his hands go to the back of her knees, and he pulls her into his lap, wrapping her thighs around his waist. She chirps her surprise once more but keeps herself anchored with his hair.

“If not for your ridiculous attire, I could be touching you,” he cups her with a palm,  “ _intimately,_ ” he rubs her, “right at this moment.”

He makes it a game, a test to see just how long she will allow this to continue.  He’ll push her to see the amount of time it takes for her to remember that there is a camera in each corner, that enemies keep a weather eye.

This is a game she started with her teasing, but he will escalate it.

“Dresses,” she whispers.

“Yes,” he replies, lips moving towards hers.  “Good girl.”

His kiss seems to have the same effect on the songbird as the scepter had on his “minions,” but he gives up something of himself as well, he forgets pieces, forgets that her love is a long lost possibility.

With arms circling her waist, he encourages her to grind into his obvious erection.  She does so with relish as he kisses her.

He denied them both this before, in the bunker, and he deeply regrets it now.  Perhaps he was trying to avoid getting too close, too dependent on his captive.  Perhaps he did not wish to further soil something as talented as Eleanor with such an intimate touch of a monster.

Regardless of his past motives, he regrets the decision to ban kissing immensely. 

Those last few days spent in the bunker Loki learned her body, her every dip and curve and crevice.  He knows her rhythms and what each needy little sound indicates.  He knows her taste.

Her body is his, but the same cannot be said for her mouth and there is no time left for him to learn this part of her as he should. 

The thought has panic rising in his chest, ever as he continues to kiss her, but he is unwilling to let this “good day” end. 

With hands on either side of her face, Loki tilts her face, slanting his mouth over hers.  His desperation is rewarded with a gasp from Eleanor and she wriggles closer, palming his collarbones as she continues to move her hips.

This is no longer a game to distract himself, to test Eleanor’s confidence in her choice.  It is no longer about anything but their combined need.

She is beautiful.  She is his.  She will soon be well beyond his reach.

Disregarding the potential consequences and the effect such contact with the monster will have on her already precarious position with SHIELD, he revels in the way her teeth scrape his button lip, the slide of her tongue against his.

Eleanor kisses with single-minded enthusiasm and she pushes close, as if she would crawl into his chest and it still would be insufficient.

Fingers tangle in his hair and make him groan.  He touches her under the loose white shirt, drifting down to encourage the circular motion of her hips.

Loki kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.  It is superior to matching her breathing.

He kisses her and pretends to be someone else.

A true prince of Asgard, stealing kisses from his betrothed, The Goddess of Song.  They are somewhere else, anywhere else – his chambers, a secret corner of the royal gardens, on a beach bathed in moonlight, in a hidden tunnel under the palace known to no other – it matters not as long as they are not here, with no possible future.

It is Eleanor’s voice that abruptly ends the fantasy. 

“Hi,” she squeaks, somewhat embarrassed.  He does not know who she’s talking too, does not care.  His lips find her throat and she shudders against him, but otherwise she is still.

“Well, I’m never going to feel up to eating ever again,” mutters a male from the doorway.  Loki doesn’t bother to look up, hoping that the interruption is a delusion, in his mind only.

Eleanor giggles and gently pushes on Loki’s shoulder.  He lets out a growl but still refuses to acknowledge their company.

“Brother,” stammers Thor.  “Please remove your lips from Lady Eleanor.  Her presence is required on the upper levels.”

Loki stills his assault, but his arms tighten around her waist.

“Loki,” she reprimands when he won’t let her stand up.  Gently tugging on his hair, she forces him to remove his face from her neck so she can look at him.  “I’ve gotta go.”

He gives her a deadly look that would leave most mortals quaking, but the songbird simply kisses the corner of his mouth.  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gives him another hug.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispers in his ear.

“Tomorrow?” he spits out.  “Why not tonight?”

“I have to meet Thor’s girlfriend.”

Refusing to watch Eleanor walk away, he stares down at his lap.

Her departure is a common occurrence.  SHIELD limits the time Eleanor may spend here and she fills her days with pointless activities – singing with Loki’s victims, dining with Iron Man and his paramour, attending church service with the loathsome Man Out of Time – that serve to remind Loki of the vast distance between them.

Tonight she will meet the woman who changed Thor so thoroughly. 

He remembers his threats on her person, remembers hating the Midgardian for altering his brother into someone fit to rule.  Although he continues to hate this stranger on principal alone, he has no desire to punish her.  Much has changed since then and he has no energy to spare on Thor’s Whore.

Eleanor kisses his temple and then she is gone.  The intensity of his distress is as alarming as it is unacceptable.  The panic is back in his chest, growing even as he curls tightly upon himself and remembers Eleanor’s breathing. 

The blanket smells of her and the panic increase.

Only a matter of days past, he was pleading his case and demanding she choose.

Far from denying his pathetic dependence on the songbird, he acknowledged it and told her to come anyway, choosing himself to be with her and damn the consequences.

There is panic in his chest and the reality of the situation makes him rethink his foolish, self-destructive choice because without Eleanor there will be no one to choose him, no one to teach him to breath, and no one to speak true.

This time when the titan’s laughter rings out, it takes Loki a full five minutes to understand that it is all in his head.

* * *

 

“Is that what you’ve been doing when you sneak down into the basement for hours on end?” Tony whispers in her ear.  They are gathered in a lounge area, indulging in before dinner cocktails and awaiting the arrival of Thor and his lady friend. “I was unaware they were conjugal visits.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, sipping on the delicious fruity concoction Tony mixed her himself.  She’s not exactly embarrassed about the earlier incident, but she certainly isn’t proud either. 

Everything she feels for Loki is so conflicting.  All this hate and empathy and arousal swirls in her, and she doesn’t need to deal with the judgments of the Avengers on top of everything else.

But they are there.  With or without her little episode this afternoon, they would judge her, some more than others.

“I mean, damn!  That was some serious tonsil hockey going on there,” Tony continues, trying and failing to keep his voice down.  Steve scowls at them from across the room before turning back to talk to Banner and Agent Romanoff.

Ellie waggles her eyebrows and sips her drink.  Normally, she’s more of a beer and wine lady, but this fruity thing Tony stuck in her hand tastes like candy.

“You’re tap dancing with the devil, Miss Tate,” Tony says, pouring more amber liquid into a glass tumbler.

“Does it even matter?” she says with a sigh.  “It’s going to be four, five days until Thor takes him away.”

“Probably closer to three.  It makes you sad,” observes Tony, totally baffled.

“I’ve always had a weakness for the tragically broken.”  This is not entirely true, unless she is putting herself in that category.  And she’s definitely in that category.

“He’s the villain here, Ellie,” Tony insists.  “He’s evil.”

“The world doesn’t function in absolutes, Tony,” she whispers, looking out the window as the sun dips passed the horizon over the healing city.  “Nothing is absolute evil.  Nothing is absolute good.  How many deaths are you responsible for, Iron Man, with all those weapons you used to make?”

Tony Stark looks pained, making Ellie feel guilty.

“You’re a good man,” she assures him.  “Or at least you’re trying to be.  Loki deserves a shot at redemption too and I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t do what I can while he’s still here.  I’ve been right where he is, alone and out of my mind.  And you know, slightly less megalomaniacal.”

This is only a very small facet of all she feels, but she’s not going to go into all that adoption business with him all over again.

Tony nods, looking pensive and making Ellie think that after all her explaining, she is finally getting Iron Man to understand her actions.  Although why this seems important at all is beyond her.

“So you make out with him? Does that help him?”

“That may have been for me,” she admits.  The physical stuff, her lust, it’s the one thing about Loki she truly understands.  She’s used to indulging her wants.

Tony obviously does not.

“Ew, it’s gotta be like tonguing a snake.  Is it like tonguing a snake?”  Tony asks.

Ellie sucks on the dregs of her drink until all the liquid is gone and then silently shoves her empty glass into Tony’s chest.  It clinks against the thing keeping him alive, but he gets the message, accepting the glass and moving around to the other side of the bar to make her another.

“The guy does seem pretty legitimately insane,” muses Iron Man, at her side once more.  “I’ll give him that.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “He’s had the godly version of a psychotic break.”

“Huh.”

“Fuck, he would hate that we’re having this conversation,” Ellie muses.

“He’s not the only one,” says Pepper, sliding up to Tony.  He immediately wraps an arm around her as she melts into his side.  Ellie feels a little pang of jealousy, wanting something that normal and affectionate. 

It’s not something she’s capable of, _normality_.

“What?” Ellie asks, confused by Pepper’s statement.

“You two should really mingle,” she answers.

“I hate mingling,” Ellie says, eyeing Romanoff and Barton in the corner.

But then Tony kisses Pepper and Ellie makes her way to Steve’s side.  She doesn’t say much and she’s too busy thinking about Loki’s impending departure to be any sort of a conversationalist.

Twenty minutes later, Thor emerges, huge arm draped over a small woman.  She is absolutely vibrating with excitement. She is beautiful and bright and potentially Ellie’s future employer. 

Introductions are made, and Ellie understands the appeal of Jane Foster.  She is so genuine and enthusiastic.  The astrophysicist is full of questions, many directed at Tony and Bruce.  They are the only ones in the room on her level when it comes to the science stuff.

Jane regards Ellie with curiosity.  Thor probably gave her all the sordid details of Eleanor’s relationship with Loki.

Dinner ends and with it the technical discussion.  Thor demands a celebration of his reunion with Jane as well as the progress on the device that will take him and Loki home.

Ellie is not in a particularly celebratory mood, but her companions are and she finds it somewhat infectious.  It has been a month and a half since the invasion. And for the first time the Avengers seem able to relax.

So Ellie drinks.  She has never been one to turn down a drink.

Tony makes it his mission to get Thor and Steve hammered.  Steve winks at Ellie from across the room as he throws back yet another shot.  Apparently Cap failed to inform Tony that he is unable to get drunk.

Ellie laughs and lifts her glass in a silent salute to the world’s first super hero.

Jane joins Ellie on a couch, handing over a shot similar to the one Steve just downed with a slight grimace.

“Hi,” says Jane Foster, astrophysicist, girlfriend of a god, and lightweight.

Ellie gives her a smile and a nod.

“So can you believe this?” she asks, gesturing to the laughing, drunk super heroes.

Ellie shakes her head because her whole life has taken on a feel of the impossible.

“We have to stick together, Lady Eleanor,” she continues, her words slurring together slightly.

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “Call me Eleanor.  Or Ellie.  Whatever.”

Jane giggles.  “Okay.  As I was saying, Ellie, you and I have to stick together.  We are the only normal ones here so we have to stick together.”

“You have the brain the size of a planet and I am may be half god, so there you go,” Ellie replies.

Jane giggles again.  “Still, we’re the most normal ones,” she insists.

Ellie shrugs.

“To us,” Jane says.

Ellie nods and lifts her shot.  They clink and drink.  Jane winces.  Ellie doesn’t.

Jane chats in Ellie’s ear for a while until Tony puts on some music.  He twirls Pepper around the room next to Natasha and Clint.  Bruce slips out. Thor collects Jane and Steve takes her spot next to Eleanor.

“I didn’t know you were so devious, Cap,” Ellie says.  “Tony’s going to pass out just trying to keep up with you.”

“Serves him right,” Steve mutters. “He should be focused on his own drinking habits.”

“Oh, I’d say he is,” Ellie mutters as she watches Tony stumble into Pepper.

Steve nods and they sit in silence for a drawn out moment.

“I don’t know how to dance,” murmurs Steve.

Ellie just raises an eyebrow.  The way he says the simple statement makes Ellie think that they are talking about something more than just dancing.

“I almost learned once,” he continues, staring at Ellie with an intensity that makes her uncomfortable.

Ellie’s had enough.  Steve’s sadness makes it impossible for her to hold off her own.  Despite her unstable legs, she gets to her feet.

“You’ll learn sometime,” she tells him before slipping out the door.

Without making a conscious decision, Ellie’s fingers skip over the button for her floor.  Instead she goes to the basement.  The guards don’t even say anything when she appears. They simply open the doors.

It’s pitch black.  She’s never seen his cell this dark, but she’s never visited him this late either.  Ellie stumbles slightly as she crosses the threshold, wishing that she took his advice to change out of her jeans and t-shirt.  Man clothes, as Loki would say.

The door slides closed behind her and she stares into the darkness for a moment, trying to determine how to locate him.  Finding the wall to her right, she follows it to his favorite corner.  Her bare feet touch the edge of the thin mattress and she grins for a moment before crawling in next to him.  She spoons herself around his back, spreading out her fingers on the taunt muscles of his stomach.  Pushing her nose into the back of his neck, she closes her eyes and sleeps, really sleeps, for the first time since the last time she curled up with him here on the hard concrete floor.

* * *

 

“Eleanor.”

The panicked whisper stirs her from sleep, but as her eyes blink open into the darkness, she finds it impossible to determine where she is.

“Eleanor!”

Someone is shaking her shoulders and she remembers through the fog of alcohol and sleep.  She’s lying on her back and she can feel Loki looming over her.

“Are you dead?” His voice is a rough whimper.

“No, no,” she assures him, reaching blindly towards him.  Her hands find his hair and she pulls his forehead to hers.  “Loki, I’m not dead.  I’m right here.  It was a dream.  Just a dream.”

“Where?”

“Stark Tower.  You’re imprisoned here in Stark Tower,” she reminds him, stroking his temples with her thumbs.

“This is real?  You are real?”

“Yes.  I’m real.  You’re real, too.”

“You’re not in the Void.  You are safe.”  A few tears escape her eyes.  She really is too drunk to deal with this.  “It was possibility only.  I did not fail you.  Not yet.  You are not in the Void.”

“I’m safe and so are you,” he repeats.  Loki shifts, rolling off her slightly to rest his face in the crook of her neck.  She pulls the blanket back up, tucking it around his shoulders.

He is silent for a very long time and Ellie’s eyes drift shut. 

“Eleanor?” he asks quietly. 

“Hum?” The noise is low in her throat and she barely is conscious.

“Why are you here with me?” he continues.  “Are you locked away as well?”

It takes her a few beats to process his words.

“No,” she whispers, hand once more finding his hair at the back of his head.  “No, I’m staying here in the tower.”

“You failed to answer the question.  Why are you here with me?”

Fuck, this is like the only thing he’s been asking her all goddamn day.

“I don’t know,” she mutters, hugging him a little closer in the hopes that his lips pressed up against her skin will prevent him from speaking.

“You chose.”

“Yeah.”  She’s not really sure what that means to her, what that means to him.

“Eleanor,” he whines.

“Go to sleep,” she says, sighing.

“Eleanor!”

“Fuck, Loki.  I’m drunk and sleepy and you’re going back to Asgard in a few days and this is where I wanted to sleep.  So sleep.”

He does as she says.

* * *

 

He opens his eyes and her ridiculous mop of blond hair fills his vision.

The room is bright, illuminated by obnoxiously artificial Midgardian lighting.  Everything – with the exception of her hair – is grey, from the concrete floor to the metal walls and bench following the length of wall opposite them. 

Loki struggles to determine if he dreamed this place, if this is a memory of a possibility shown to him by the Tesseract.

No, he has been here before.  Perhaps he never left.

The grey is vastly preferable to the suffocating nothing of The Void.

Eleanor breathes.

His hand rests in front of her nose and her soft, rhythmic exhaling tickles his skin.  It is a vastly comforting sensation.

She lives.  The breath against his hand should be proof enough, but Loki remains unconvinced.

Moving slowly, careful not to disturb her slumber, he slips his hand under her manly garment, pushing his palm into her chest. 

Her heart beats and she breathes.

And she breathes, breathes, breathes, _breathes_.

Loki matches the pace of her inhales and exhales.  It is calming and she is calm and through her, he is calm too. 

_Match my breathing._

This is something she told him to do once, or perhaps it was something he dreamed, some possibility lost to him the moment his desire to protect the meaningless woman beside him overrode his good sense and Dr. Enormous Green Rage Monster   pulverized his bones.

Did this truly happen?

He wiggles slightly, wincing at the ache.

Yes, he was bested by a giant green monster of science, all to protect the woman currently breathing and alive and calm in his arms.

He dreamed of her. 

“ _Fuck, do I love you.”_

She said that and she smiled and he believed the words to be truth.

But, no, that never occurred, nor will it ever.  It was a possibility lost when he hurt her, first with sex upon their meeting and later with his hands, hitting her, choking her, forcing her.

A familiar and terrifying chortle pierces the silence of the cell, making Loki jump and cower.  It is the titan’s chuckle, such an odd sound for a powerful being, and one Loki knows well. 

Centuries of languishing alone in the dark, interrupted only by laughter so faint, Loki thought to be imagining it and fool he was, he wanted it, wanted anything to disturb the _nothing._

But eventually the titan would always appear, continuing to laugh his odd laugh as Loki begged for death, for anything to bring about an end to the pain. 

The chortle sounds again and seems to come at him from all sides.  Loki whimpers as the panic builds in his chest and he holds Eleanor a little tighter.  He closes his eyes, waiting for long, terrified moments for the pain to begin, but there is nothing but that damned chuckle.

It is loud enough to tear his mind in two, but Eleanor continues to sleep.

How can she possibly sleep through such a menacing cacophony?

His mind is no longer safe or clear or even his, really, and it takes him ages to find the answer.

This is false laughter that exists for Loki and Loki alone.  The titan will come for him eventually, but not before the anticipation and fear are allowed time to fester and flourish.  It will be years, only after he’s pushed aside the fear and once more dares to hope for safety, before Loki will inevitably hear this odd laugh in reality. 

But the giggle sounds again and despite all logic, Loki quakes and panics as if it is real.

Eleanor is real.

She will not love him or smile in that specific way, but she is real and she is here, asleep in his arms.  He ignores the laughter, listening intently to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, pushing his palm into her chest, and forcing his gasping breaths to match hers.

The laughter fades and Loki calms.

“My mind and my magic were once my most valuable assets,” he muses.   

The words were meant to be thought only, but Eleanor stirs as he speaks in her ear.  He moves his hand from her chest to her stomach, marveling at her softness as he traces patterns on her smooth skin.  He is creating the design of runes unique to his Jotun form on her body, and he stops abruptly at the revelation.

“Now one has left me to heal the other,” he continues.  “Perhaps I was never particularly powerful, for my magic does not seem to be healing my mind at all.  The trickster duped by his own mind.  The fatherless, abandoned by even his magic.  Pathetic.”

Eleanor turns in his arms and he is surprised by her wakefulness.  She blinks at him, expression dull and sleepy and cross-eyes, and then leans back to see him clearly.  He does not approve of the distance this puts between their bodies, and he touches her cheek.

“Are you a dream?”

Frowning, she shakes her head.

“No,” he says, sighing.  “You are not the Eleanor of my visions.”  When he pulls his hand away she frowns more, as if his statement disappoints.  “The Eleanor of my dreams, the Eleanor of the Tesseract, gives me endless smiles.”

Her answering attempted smile is dead in the eyes, hallow and so far from what he wants from her.  This is a false smile, a sad smile, a smile of one with a heavy heart.

“It fails to reach your eyes,” he mutters.  But she is trying.  Perhaps she simply is in need of assistance. 

Fingers back on her face, he strives to arrange his features into the desired expression.  He squints in determination and Eleanor giggles – a sweet, tinkling melody in direct opposition to the cackling titan – her eyes bright and alive now.

“You’re silly,” she says.  “I’ve never seen you silly.”

He doesn’t understand her meaning but does not ask for clarification. 

“What did you see, Loki?” she whispers, sobering.  “What else did it show you?”

“Long lost possibilities,” he mumbles.

“Are you ever going to tell me?  Like, _really_ tell me?”

“Unlikely,” he says.  And that is the end of it.  “If this is no dream, how is it that I awoke with you in my arms?”

“I slept here.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Yes, I gathered.  My mind is not _so_ far gone, Eleanor.”

 _Lie_.  He is so far gone, so terrifyingly lost.

Eleanor sits up, stretching her arms above her head.  He sees the Aesir in her now.  It is her striking blue eyes and shinning light hair.

She stands, continuing to stretch.  In all likelihood, she probably needs distance between them as well.

“I wanted to sleep here,” she says, pulling her hair into a messy knot atop her head. 

“Because you were intoxicated?” He can smell the alcohol on her skin.

“No.”

“Why, Eleanor?”

“Because you’re leaving soon and I’ll miss you.”

The panic rips through him with a suddenness that steals his air supply.  She is across the room, too far for him to match her breath.  Soon he’ll see the Allfather and his false mother, his false home, and how will he manage to calm his breathing with Eleanor here on this useless realm, alive and alone and breathing without him?

He asked her to choose this and now he cannot breathe.

“Do not lie,” he says.

Somehow, this will be bearable if she is lying when she claims she will miss him. 

“I’m not,” she says simply as if this whole matter is indeed simple.

“You will not miss me.”

“Do you think I want it to be true?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I don’t.  I don’t want to miss you, but I will.”

Rage blinds him, replacing the panic.  It is a vastly preferable emotion and suddenly he hates her.  Suddenly he leans into hating her, blaming her for his weakened state.

He hates her ability to calm him, hates that she looks at him knowingly, with such unbearable understanding.  He hates her because she does not smile and he hates her because she will never love him. 

His dependence and weakness are her doing.                                                                 

In a matter of days he’ll be dragged back to his false home and Eleanor will leave him alone, just like every person he ever so foolishly allowed himself to care for.

His vision clears and he is screaming in her face, hands digging into her arms and pinning her to a wall.  Eleanor shows no fear as she brazenly meets his eye, only a tired sort of resignation and deep sadness apparent in her delicate features.

He will not hurt her, cannot again, not physically, and he lets his hands drop, but he has his words still.

And words can cut as true as the mad titan’s blades.

“You are nothing to me but a whore with a pretty voice.”  This statement does not feel like his own.  If any other called her such a thing he’d have the offender’s tongue.  “You are unwanted, unloved.  Unvalued.  It is pathetic, the way you cling to me, taking on my problems as a means to ignore your own.  All alone.”

There are tears in her eyes.  They bring him glee and shame simultaneously.

“I could easily kill you and call it mercy.”  He removes the anger from his voice.  He is cold.  He knows that Eleanor fears this tone above all others.  She _loathes_ his coldness.  His inherent coldness.  “None would miss you, none would care.”

Loki would care. 

He cannot decide if he speaks of Eleanor or himself.  Regardless, she cries, bringing him glee and shame simultaneously. 

This is not elegant.  This is not subtle.  This is not like him.  His words are not carefully planned and crafted, but a verbal explosion.  He feels out of control, but he continues to spew venom at her, anything he can think that might possibly hurt.

“Stop,” she whispers.

“I loathe you,” he says conversationally.  “If I could carve out your voice with a dull blade and carry it around in my pocket I would do so without thought.  There is nothing about you even remotely worth while, yet you constantly compare yourself to a god, to _me_.  As if our experiences are even remotely similar.  I may be a monster but you are a waste.  You willfully squander the one gift bestowed on you through your misspent divine heritage, singing in hovels, in dens of lust and inebriation.”

 _“Fuck, do I love you.”_ He closes his eyes and ignores the Eleanor of his dreams.

“Liar,” says the flesh and blood version, but she continues to cry as if she believes his words to be truth.

“You even drove the mortals away with your stupidity and insatiability.  You fail to recognize the monster, even when he’s inside you.  I should kill you, spare this world one cockroach, because you fail so epically in comparison to the Eleanor of my dreams.”

When he is violently ripped away from his songbird, it is a relief.  The horrible and incomprehensible and inelegant jumble of lie and truth stops pouring from his mouth as the overly patriotic mortal’s fist connects with his jaw.

He relishes the pain.  He deserves so much more.

His false brother pushes him back into a corner, holding him there with a massive hand against his chest.

Uncontrollable sobs wrack Eleanor’s body as she watches him with big, wet, _hurt_ eyes.  His plan to cause her pain, to hurt her with his detestation, is a smashing success.

She truly hates him now, as he hates himself, but when she drops her gaze to the floor he abruptly changes his mind. 

No.  This is not right.  He asked her to choose him, very nearly begged, and she did.  She chose not to leave and look what it got her.

He wants the compassion back, wants her understanding.  Never again will he push her away if only she’ll look at him once more.

“Eleanor,” He pleads with her but she only flinches, continuing to state at the floor.  He doesn’t know how to apologize, to right the wrongs.  “I lied.  I _lied_.  Eleanor, please to not go.”

The Man of Iron appears but Loki ignores all but the songbird he so thoroughly crushed with his words.  He opens his mouth to continue begging but is muzzled by a cold metal device.  It pinches his jaw and fuses his lips together as it is snapped into place behind his ears.

A low groan rumbles in his throat, but she still does not look up.

The man out of time places an arm around her shoulders and she turns to him for comfort and Loki struggles madly against his brother’s restraining arms. 

He panics. 

Eleanor and her calming breath are too far away and he fights to get to her, to make her understand, as she is so apt to do.

Heavy irons manacle his wrists and Thor bolts them to the floor with a length of chain. 

Eleanor leaves, driven away by the monster, another chapter in the painfully repetitive story of his pathetic life.

 

 


	16. Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of suicide attempt in this one.

There is no crying or chocolate consumption, only sad music and excessive, restless, terrible napping.

On some level, she understands his actions as those of a desperately scared and mentally ill alien, seeking a little self-preservation.  

How many times has she done what he did?  Been a total bitch to those seeking to know her, to drive them away before things got too deep.

It’s too little too fucking late, in the case of Loki and Eleanor.

Still, understanding does not make her insides hurt any less.  Understanding does not make eating any more appealing or real sleep any more possible.  Understanding does not prevent her from wallowing.

There is a good chunk of his hasty little speech that she can easily disregard as obvious crap.  All that detail about killing her, while disturbing, was just such bullshit she is almost embarrassed for him.

The rest… well, that effectively tore her up because Loki may be the one with the delusions and the panic attacks, but Eleanor is a mess too. Despite his millennia of living, she’s actually been a mess longer. 

She’s got a decade of struggling to survive, of learning to live with the knowledge that she is unloved, unwanted, not anything.  He pointed out her lack of worth so easy, as if he’s known her to be a nothing and a nobody from the beginning but just hadn’t thought to mention it until now.

There were moments when he could have been talking about himself, rather than Eleanor.  She can very nearly logic away this part because Ellie is wanted.

She _is_ wanted.  Nina wanted her before she died. Bragi protected her with his crazy magic.  Maureen and Harrison chose her, loved her.  Laura certainly continues to want a relationship with Ellie.

And Loki wants her too. That’s why he was so awful.  He wants her and needs her and it’s terrifying.

Although he may want her, Loki hates her in equal measure because she fails to live up to some twisted vision he had when his eyes were still polluted with toxic blue. 

This part she can’t think her way out of.  This part has her consuming an entire bottle of whiskey and keeps her from falling asleep despite her warm buzz. 

He’s babbled about his visions on many occasions, but Eleanor still doesn’t understand what he’s seen. The past for sure, but certainly not the future.  She’ll never see him again and he hates her for failing to be a fantasy, so no, there will be no future where she smiles at him the way he wants.

Eleanor watches the sunrise over New York City from bed, face peaking out from the blankets after a night of drunken dozing and no real rest. 

Only a few months ago Ellie could easily wallow in peace for weeks, leaving her shit apartment only for wine and whiskey and some sort of pill if things were really bad. 

There are people around her now that weaseled in passed her defenses when she wasn’t paying attention and there is Laura, calling her sister, so wallowing is not an option.

Even if she could pull off another day alone, Loki goes back to Asgard in less than twenty-four hours, so she sits up, ignoring the way the alcohol swirls in her head.  She spent her night agonizing over this, but she’ll probably never see him again and she feels this bizarre need to have her say.

Her feet find the floor and she dresses methodically, preparing to finally say goodbye to the God of Lies.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tony Stark asks from somewhere behind her.  Ellie continues to just stare at the metal door.  The two guards that flank it try not to gape at the small woman falling apart in front of them.  They fail, but Eleanor appreciates the effort nonetheless.

“No,” mutters Ellie as she braids her hair.  “But it’s now or never.”

He leaves tomorrow.  She has no idea what to say, but this feels important.

“You do remember that he nearly killed you two days ago,” Tony says, obviously questioning her sanity.

This is an extreme assessment of the situation.  In the chaos only Ellie noticed that Loki didn’t touch her, not after shoving her against the wall, ranting about how much he hates her for leaving him and not smiling right.

He wouldn’t have killed her, but his words certainly hurt enough to seem like he could.

“No, asshole.  I forgot,” she replies.  Tony sighs heavily but finally shuts up.  Ellie stares at the door for another few minutes.  The guards share a significant look.  “I have to do this,” she whispers.  “It feels important.”

Again, Tony sighs.  “Fine.  Go in.  I’ll just stay right here and wait for you to scream for help.”

Ellie winces, remembering the other night.  She didn’t scream then, although she should have. 

She is a mess.

“Let me in,” Ellie says to the guards.  They seem a little alarmed by her rapid decision-making, but do as she says. 

The metal door slides open and Ellie enters his prison for a final time with extreme caution.  Her eyes adjust to the dim light as they lock her in.   It takes her no time at all to find him tucked into his favorite corner, perched near the mattress.  His position is so familiar, it could be like any other time she’s visited in the last month and a half, but after the other morning they’ve kept him restrained.

A metal muzzle follows the line of his jaw, obscuring his mouth from view.  His hands are manacled in a pair of wide cuffs that are connected to a long chain that’s bolted to the floor.

He sits as still as a statue, completely lifeless, save for his emerald eyes.  She’s only able to hold his gaze for a moment before it becomes far too much and she turns away, moving to the bench.  She sits facing away from him with her legs tucked up to her chin.

It doesn’t really help.  His gaze burns her back and she can’t manage to find the words for long, painful moments.

“I prefer not to speak at all, remember?” she manages, her voice breaking.  “So when I do choose to talk it’s important.  You have to listen, Loki.”

She doesn’t expect anything in response given the muzzle, but she listens for the rattle of chains or the shuffle of fabric moving against his long legs as he moves, but there is nothing.

“I killed my father,” she says, having no idea where this is coming from.  But again, it feels important so she decides to continue.  “Thor said you killed your birth father, but for me it was my fake dad.  It wasn’t on purpose but it was my fault.”

Her chest is tight as she thinks back to those months between when she found out that her family was a lie and the death of her fake father.  It’s a bit of a blur, given all the substances she was pumping into her body at the time.  The drugs and alcohol and sex did little to calm the rage boiling her veins and blackening her heart.

“I found out I was adopted when I was seventeen,” she says, even though this is not new information.  “I’d just gotten into music school and it was halfway through my senior year.  We did this blood type thing in science class and mine just… didn’t work.  My fake parents were both doctors so I asked them about it and all these secrets just sort of came out.  Well, not _all_ the secrets.  Just the adoption bit.”

She resists a compulsion to turn around, to see if he’s even listening.  This was far from her intention as she stared at the metal door between the guards, but now that’s she’s here she can’t seem to stop.

“Afterwards, it didn’t feel like anything was mine anymore,” she whispers into the cold, quiet room.  “If my family wasn’t really mine, than the rest of it wasn’t either.  All of a sudden my home wasn’t mine, my friends, my life.  Nothing belonged to me and I didn’t belong to anything.”

It’s been years since she’s spoken this much all at once.  Her throat feels like sand paper and the pain seems to penetrate every part of her tired body, but the words feel cathartic.  Like she’s been waiting eight years to get this off her chest.

“They lied to me and I got angry.  My whole life I felt like such an outcast and all along they knew why and it make me so goddamn angry,” she continues, wiping at her damp cheeks.

The anger has gone cold now, so that Ellie sees her actions as childish but the hurt is still there.

“I was a mess.  I started partying a lot, didn’t go to class, lost my scholarship to Berklee.”

The room is too quiet.  Impossibly quiet.  He has to be listening in this impossibly quiet room, but her saying it seems just as important as him hearing it.

“I got in trouble with this guy,” she murmurs because this is the very, very worst part, the part that she doesn’t even let herself think about.  “I thought I didn’t give a shit about anything and I let myself get into this horrible situation.  It was really bad and I was high and drunk and unbelievably scared.  So I called my fake father.  I was always such a daddy’s girl before…”

She realizes that Loki probably has no idea what she’s going on about.  She clears her throat.

“It was a fucking blizzard, but he came and picked me up.  When I found out I’d gotten really quiet so I hadn’t really talked to him much in months.  He pulled me out of this fucked up situation and he wasn’t even mad!  He was just so sad and disappointed and fucking _concerned_.”

She sits in silence for a full five minutes, staring at the stainless steel wall.

“He was being too… I don’t know, too _something_.  Too much like a real dad and I snapped.  I lost it and screamed at him.  I screamed terrible, horrible things at him.  I told him I hated him and I couldn’t stop and he just took it but the roads were so icy.  There was another car.  A drunk driver.”

Hiding her face against her knees, Ellie dries her tears on her jeans.   

“And then he died,” she whispers.  “It was my fault.  He would never have been out that late if I wasn’t such a fuck up.  He would have somehow not gotten hit by the other car if he wasn’t distracted by my hateful words.  I was directly responsible for his death. He loved my voice and I screamed at him and he died and I didn’t.  My voice was no longer mine.  This beautiful blessing was not a gift I received from my father, but a tool given to me by some stranger that ultimately brought about his death.”

She’s not making sense, but it’s the truth.  She’s rambling, but the words keep coming.  Now all her actions seem so stupid, but this is how it felt at the time.

“So I stopped using it,” she continues.  “My voice. I stopped using it.  I refused to speak or sing or even whisper to myself when I was alone.  I didn’t see anyone.  I didn’t listen to music.  And worst of all, the remainder of my fake family blamed me.  They never said it like that, but I could see it in their eyes and that made the guilt so much worse.”

After eight years it’s not supposed to hurt anymore, but it does.

“I...  I was done.”  Ellie lifts her head to study her wrists but the scars don’t even remain.  She probably would have succeeded too, if it wasn’t for the whole half god thing.  “So I sliced my wrists open in a bathtub. I wanted to die in that car next to my dad, but I figured I could settle for the bathtub.”

The chains rattle.  Ellie sits up a little straighter, crossing her legs. 

“It didn’t take,” she mutters, somewhat unnecessarily.  “Laura found me.  I do feel a bad about that, but my fake big sister found me.  I spent three days in the hospital and then Maureen had me committed.  You probably don’t know what that means.  It’s like a weird combo of a hospital and a jail.  I guess it worked.  They gave me drugs and the depression wasn’t so crippling and I didn’t want to kill myself anymore, but I hated Maureen for sending me away.  Really, I just wanted her to prove that she did love me.  That she didn’t blame me like I blamed myself, but instead she sent me away and it felt like a final betrayal, even if it was for my own good.”

She traces her wrist with a fingertip and thinks about Loki letting go of Thor on some glowing bridge to other worlds, choosing instead to drift into nothingness.  

“Eventually, I was sorta better and they brought me back to my fake home, but I still refused to really speak to them,” she says with a rueful smile.  “Of course that couldn’t last forever, but not long after I started talking again I left home and all those things that were no longer mine.  I turned eighteen, packed a duffle, grabbed my guitar, and just left. I cut myself off from all the things that made me _me_ , and there was nothing.  I felt like nothing.  All the very worst parts of my personality became more pronounced.  I drank more, smoked more, did all sorts of drugs. I fucked everyone.”

The loud thump from Loki makes her jump but she pushes forward. She imagines that he punched the concrete floor.

“I was singing at least.  It kept me sane, but I still didn’t feel like a person. I joined a couple bands and I stayed busy.  It made me feel more like a version of who I once was.  It’s like you and your magic.  I’m extraordinary when I sing.”

She smiles to herself but still doesn’t look at him. On this one point she knows Loki agrees with her whole heartedly, even if he was a total dick about her voice last time she was here.

“Being around you, seeing what all this pain and hate has done to you, it’s made me want to get better.  I’m going to try with Laura.  Maybe someday I’ll try with Maureen, too.  If I’m really brave.  I’m going to go to New Mexico with Jane Foster and I’m going to get my life together.”

A little flicker of hope blooms in her chest, but she can’t summon the courage to look at Loki.

“I know why you did it,” she whispers, not sure what event she’s referring to specifically.  Maybe she means his fall.  Maybe she means his insane attempt to punish his fake family by taking over Earth.  Maybe she’s talking about the other morning when his rage spilled over onto her.  “And I forgive you.”

The silence feels so thick, she’s scared to move but eventually she stands.  There is nothing else to say.  All the speaking has left her exhausted.  She wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and not use her voice again for a week.

Rising on shaky legs, she takes one step towards the door and feels him watching, pleading.  This will inevitably be the last time she’s with him, but she really tries not to turn around.

Of course she does.  Was there ever really any doubt?

She stares at her feet as she turns.  It takes her at least a minute to look up at him.  Those eyes of his, the way he stares right through her, it makes her shake.

“You hurt me the other day because you’re scared,” she manages, scowling down at him.  “We’re probably never going to see each other again and you’ll miss me and that scares you. You need me.  Everything you screamed at me last night might be how you want to feel, but really it’s just the opposite.  You need me and it’s easier to be hatful and cruel than admit that one, simple fact.”

She wipes at her cheeks again, frustrated by her own tears.  Loki gets to his knees, straining against the cuffs that have him bolted to the floor.

Ellie’s hands fist at hers sides as she desperately attempts to stay rooted to the spot.  But those green eyes are pleading with her and after tomorrow she’ll never see him again.

With a groan of pure self-loathing, Ellie moves across the room to his favorite corner.  Straining against his restraints, Loki tries to get closer.  She tortures him for a minute, staying just out of reach.  His eyes narrow as she frowns down at him. 

After a long moment she finally reaches out, pushing his messy hair off his forehead.  Despite the muzzle, Ellie can hear the sigh reverberate through Loki’s chest.  He leans into her touch as she tucks his hair behind his ear.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs.  “I’ve done it a million times.  It’s easier to push someone away.  And for us… well, we’re never going to see each other again so hate me if you want.  Whatever makes this easier for you.”

He seems to apologize with his expression, but Ellie decides this is just wishful thinking on her part.

“Loki,” she says, getting closer.  “Just…” She sighs, not sure what she wants to say in their final moments together.  Her attachment to him is so unhealthy and she tries to be happy that it will be a non-issue in the very near future, but her heart is bursting from her chest and there is nothing left to say.  “Okay.  Well, bye.”

She kisses his temple and flees, not able to look at him again.

It’s back to the wallowing.

* * *

 

The knock on her door is highly unwelcome.  She’s only been granted a few hours of peace since her painful and one-sided conversation with Loki. 

She really hopes whoever is daring to interrupt her wallowing is not Iron Man or Captain America.  On her way out of the basement cell, Tony tried to hug her, and then Steve, but she ducked both their arms and ran for the elevator, intent on locking herself away in her room. 

They obviously know her whole sob story now, ease dropping bastards.  Thor too.  She saw his ridiculous blond head sticking out of the viewing room.

She thought her great escape made it clear that she wanted to be left alone, so she ignores the first knock.  Pushing her head under a pillow, she closes her eyes and pretends to sleep, trying desperately to get to a state of unconsciousness.

The second knock is more insistent and the third is a downright demand.

Ellie crawls out of bed, pushing her messy hair off her forehead as she opens the door.

The redheaded assassin is just about the last person Ellie expected to see.  Natasha Romanoff stands in the doorway wearing civilian clothes with her arms crossed over her chest.

Ellie just raises an eyebrow.

“Director Fury would like to see you,” Natasha says.

Ellie just continues to stare blankly until the agent lets out a sigh.

“Your mother is here,” she confesses.  Ellie moves to slam the door in Natasha’s face, but the assassin is quicker.  She holds it open with ease against Ellie’s meager strength.

“No,” Ellie says.  “No way.”

“Eleanor, let’s just skip to the end after I badger you into going to the meeting.  I am going to persuade you eventually.  Just come with me now and we’ll save us both the time and energy,” Natasha says.

Ellie certainly is low on energy so she steps into the hallway, begrudgingly following the super spy to Fury’s office.

She takes a seat next to Maureen, not looking at the woman who has lied to her for the entirety of her life.

“You have concerns allowing SHIELD to study your genetic make up,” says Fury without preamble.

“Yeah,” snaps Ellie.  “It doesn’t seem like a particularly good idea given we’re talking about the organization that tried to nuke Manhattan.  Excuse me if I’m not in a rush to just hand myself over.”

Fury winces.  “We have taken steps to ensure—“

“I’m not interested,” Ellie says.

“Miss Tate—“

“I’m serious.  It’s not a good idea.  And really, I don’t want to know,” she insists.

“I can help, Ellie,” murmurs Maureen.  It’s a struggle for Ellie to keep from looking at her fake mother.

Maureen went back to school when Ellie was still a baby to get her doctorate in genetics.  That decision makes much more since in light of Eleanor’s unclear heritage. 

“I’d be in charge of the project,” Maureen says.  “You would have complete control of any decisions regarding the testing and I would have the authority to make sure that happens.”

Now Ellie glances at her fake mother.

“And would you have complete control of the information you gather?” asks Ellie.

Maureen and Fury share a look.

“I didn’t think so,” Ellie says, standing.  “Thanks, but no thanks, Fury.  I’ll pass.  Tony Stark actually offered me a job so I think I’ll go to New Mexico with him.  You want to walk me out, Maureen?”

Everyone remains frozen for a few seconds, shocked by all the words that just poured out of Ellie’s mouth.  Maureen scrambles to her feet, following Ellie out the door.

They move in silence to the elevator, through the lobby, and out the main entrance.  Ellie has no idea where the woman is staying.  She has no idea where the woman even lives these days.

Somehow the thought of strangers living in the place where she spent her childhood makes her sad.

Ellie turns right at random and they walk a few blocks before she speaks, dodging around clean up crews and lingering rubble.

“Have you ever studied me before?” Ellie asks as Maureen falls into step beside her.

“No.”

“But you are a geneticist and—“

“No, I haven’t,” says Maureen in her steady Southern drawl.  “I thought I might need to someday.  I thought you might want me too, but no, I never so much as took a blood sample.”

Ellie sinks down onto a bench that miraculously survived the invasion attempt.  Maureen joins her, regarding her warily.

“Why not? Were you that desperate for me to be like every other kid?  Did you want me to be like Laura that badly?  Like if you ignored it I would just magically become what you wanted me to be?” she asks, hating the tears she hears in her own voice.

“No,” Maureen says, actually crying.  Full-blown tears.  “God, Eleanor, no.  You aged so slowly, almost erratically, I knew you’d never be like everyone else, but that was okay because you were mine.”

Ellie stares at the cracks in the pavement.

“I just wanted you to have the best possible life,” whispers Maureen.  “You are my daughter, not a science experiment.  I’ve never even taken so much as a sample of blood and I never would unless you wanted me too.  Unless you want to know more.”

“I… I don’t think I really do need to know, not about the science anyway.  I don’t know about the science of humans so how would knowing about the science of aliens change that?” Ellie murmurs. “Maybe someday it will be important, but for now I just really don’t see the point.” 

“Okay, Ellie,” murmurs Maureen.  “Whatever you want.  Whatever will make this easier.”

Those are the words Eleanor just said to Loki. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m so tired, Mom,” Ellie says, finally letting herself cry.

When Maureen tentatively reaches out for a hand, Ellie doesn’t pull away.  They sit like that for a long time.

* * *

 

“Lady Eleanor,” Thor says when she once more opens her door after unwanted knocking.  “We depart momentarily.  I’ve come to say my goodbyes.”

“Right,” says Ellie, blushing slightly when she remembers that the thunder god now knows her whole sob story.  “Well, goodbye.”

“It truly was an honor to have met you, Lady Eleanor,” Thor continues, looking grave.  “I must apologize once again for my brother’s erratic behavior.  He is not well.”

“I know, Thor.  Believe me, I get it.”

“Good, good,” he says.  Eleanor’s never seen Thor awkward before and it is so far removed from his typical confidence, but she can’t think of another word to describe this goodbye.  “And I expect we shall meet again as you will be working with my lady, Jane.”

Eleanor nods.

“Also, thank you.  You have been of great assistance in this trying time.  I thank you for your bravery and your kindness.”

Eleanor nods.

Thor sighs heavily and pats her once on the shoulder with enough strength to make her wince, and then turns to leave.  “Take care, Lady Eleanor.”

“Bye.” 

She is about to close her door but then Thor is back, frowning down at her.

“Before Loki’s hurtful tirade, I was prepared to offer you a place in Asgard,” he confesses.

“What?” she asks, mouth falling open in shock. 

“I planned to bring you home, to the Realm Eternal, where you could learn of your people and help Loki heal.”

Eleanor continues to gape.

“The offer stands, Lady Eleanor, but I do understand why you would not wish to continue helping him after all he said,” Thor mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No,” she manages, hating how tempting the offer is.  “I’m not doing that.  I can’t make my whole life about Loki.  I don’t want too.”

“I understand,” Thor says, hanging his head in disappointment.

“Look, Thor, I know it may not seem like it when compared with your brother, but I’m a mess too.  I need to get myself right and that won’t happen with Loki on Asgard.  I’m sorry, but this is it.”

“I understand,” Thor says, backing away from her door once more.  “And I wish you the best on all your future endeavors to ‘get right.’  Thank you again, Lady Eleanor, for your unerring grace.”

He leaves for real this time and Eleanor collapses back onto her bed, hating the way her resolve is flagging.  It’s so fucking tempting.

“Crap,” she says, getting up and pulling on her shoes.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this,” mutters Pepper as she parks the sleek Audi behind an unmark SHEILD sedan.  “Tony is going to kill me.”

Ellie rolls her eyes as she pushes open the door and steps out of the car.

“He’s not my father, Potts,” she mutters, struggling to keep up with the long stride with the leggy strawberry blonde.

“Although he certainly does act like it sometimes,” says Pepper, beaming.  “Or maybe your big brother.  It’s absolutely adorable.”

Ellie just rolls her eyes again.

“I thought you already said goodbye,” says Pepper.

“I didn’t do a very good job.”

And she didn’t.  After more wallowing she decided what to say.

They walk a few more steps.  “He’s going to be really pissed.  Fury and rest, too,” says Eleanor.

“They really don’t want you here.”

“It’s offensive, Pepper. I am capable of making my own decisions and even if they are shitty decisions, at least they’re mine,” Ellie snaps.  Since the incident with Loki, everyone has been treating her as if she’s made of glass.

If she had more energy she’d be really pissed that Thor, Tony, and Steve all thought it would be a good idea to crowd into the viewing room to listen to her little tale.

“I am aware,” Pepper replies.  “Why do you think I let you convince me to drag you here?”

They get to the perimeter set up by SHIELD.  The agents there resist for a moment but Ellie and Pepper both flash the badges that give them access to Stark Tower and they are allowed to pass.

Jane Foster determined that this location would be the most conducive to this sort of freaky intergalactic travel and it took SHIELD very little time at all to clear such a popular part of Central Park.

Said astrophysicist is currently hugging the shit out of Thor.  Although she seems to be garnering all the attention of the god, his hand in tightly curled around a chain connected to the manacle that imprisons Loki.  The rest of the Avengers form a loose circle around the trio, watching the God of Mischief with narrowed, angry eyes.

Ellie comes to a stop abruptly at the edge of the courtyard.  She feels Pepper freeze at her side, feels Pepper staring at her, probably rethinking her decision to bring Ellie to this departure at all.

Loki is back in his layers of green and black leather and metal.  The lower part of his face remains obscured by the metal muzzle.  The scratches from his own nails and the bruises from the hulk haven’t quite healed, despite all the time that’s passed.  His chin is pointed down, his expression unfathomable.

But then his whole frame seems to tense.  She knows even before he angles his body in her direction that Loki senses her.  He knows that she’s here.

Ellie holds her breath as his head tilts slightly, eyes flickering up to hers.  He looks right at her, his gaze hard and unyielding.  She stares back, unable to do anything else really.  The way his gaze bores into hers should be somewhat terrifying, but all Ellie sees is how hard he is trying to hold on to the super villain persona, the one he’s never quite managed to pull off when it comes to Eleanor.

After just a few more seconds he loses that hard edge.  Something so desperate and raw filters into his emerald eyes.  It breaks Ellie’s heart because he has no chance.  None at all.  He isn’t equipped to acknowledge his demons, let alone fight them. 

And Eleanor is tempted.

Peppers yells her name as Ellie takes off, running towards the compelling god that she should really hate.  The other Avengers make similar noises of surprise and distress.  She ducks around Tony and glares at Steve until he begrudgingly steps aside.

Ellie slips under Loki’s chained wrists. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she clings to the leather of his back.  Loki holds himself tall and proud for a moment.  She stares up at him, rolling her eyes.  It’s painfully obvious that this is one weakness he is unwilling to show to his enemies, but they are never going to see each other again so he gives up, tightening his arms around her as best he can given his chains.

And Eleanor is very tempted.

Her fingers touch the muzzle over his jaw, coaxing his face closer to hers.  A little sob escapes her throat as he rests his forehead against hers.  Usually he closes his eyes and melts into her when they are in this position, but today his green eyes dart around her face as if he is desperate to memorize each and every detail.

This isn’t helpful to either of them, but Ellie can’t stop.  It’s a terrifying possibility, but Ellie is starting to wonder if she needs Loki as much as he needs her.

She doesn’t know want to say, so she keeps silent, giving him a watery smile.  After Thor came to say his goodbyes Ellie decided that she could do a much better job for Loki, but now that she’s here she doesn’t know what to say.

Loki nods as if he understands something she doesn’t, hunching his shoulders and cocooning her with his frame.  He seems so much wider, draped in all this leather and metal.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispers.  These are not the words she wants to say.  _I’ll go with you, I’ll stay with you, I’ll be with you._

He nods again.

“Please try,” she whispers. “Please try to get better.  Please.”

He huffs.

“You have people who care about you, Loki,” she continues, even as she feels him tense in her arms.  “So please, just try.”

Loki pushes his face into her neck.  Ellie closes her eyes.

“Lady Eleanor,” murmurs Thor.  Loki’s head jerks up to glare at his brother, but Ellie just keeps looking at Loki.  “We really must depart immediately.”

There is a question in Thor’s voice.  He hopes that she’s changed her mind.

And Eleanor has never been more tempted.

“Okay.”  It’s desperate and pathetic and will have Ellie hating herself later, but she stands on her tiptoes to kiss Loki’s cheek.  The word “goodbye” gets lodged in her throat, but she manages a final smile as she attempts to slip out of the circle of his arms.  For a moment Ellie doesn’t think he’ll let go, but he does.

Tony snags her elbow, pulling her to safety.  It would be so easy to jump back, to latch onto Thor at the last moment.

Ellie watches from between Tony and Steve as Loki grabs the device that contains the Tesseract.  The dark god stares at Ellie as Thor turns the handle, and she doesn’t move. 

Eleanor chooses her self.

The gods seem to disintegrate in a blinding blue light, shooting up to the swirling colors in the sky.


	17. Home

“Did you have to wear green?” Darcy asks when the elevator opens and Eleanor steps out into the lobby of Stark Tower where Darcy and Jane are waiting.

“What wrong with green?” Ellie asks, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in her sweater.   Darcy probably would prefer Ellie to be in a dress, but the best Ellie could manage is this nice green sweater and skinny jeans.  Her boots are new, at least.

“You always wear green,” replies Darcy.  She looks stunning as usual in a tight black number.  “And jeans?  Really?”

“Hush, Darcy,” says Jane.  “Eleanor, you look lovely.”

Ellie nods in thanks.  It seems Jane sees her nerves when Darcy does not.

“Fine, fine,” says Darcy as Ellie shrugs into her pea coat.  “Let’s get going.  I’d have them pick us up but they couldn’t get into the evacuated zone anyway so we have to go get them.”

Three months since the invasion and the blocks closest to Stark Tower are still not open to the public.  Few still remain in the tower, but Jane, Darcy, and Ellie have nowhere to go until the compound in New Mexico is ready.  Although there is plenty of organizational work to be done, but things are quiet,

Darcy is Ellie’s opposite in nearly every way.  She is loud, happy, busty, and a brunette, but Ellie liked her the moment she arrived in the tower a month ago.  She’s an engineer that once worked as Jane’s assistant.  Now she’ll be designing and constructing whatever Jane might need to get the Bifrost up and running once more.

Although Darcy’s addition to the tower was exciting at first, things once more settled into a quiet routine.  Far too quiet for Eleanor’s liking.  It provides too much time for thinking about the Loki, locked away in some Asgardian jail.

He’s been gone for over a month and Eleanor isn’t right.

She misses him, aches for him, and that is why she agreed to Darcy’s ridiculous double date.

“How are you going to explain the car?” asks Jane, walking them out front to where the standard black sedan awaits, courtesy of their employer.

“Let them believe we are rich and powerful,” Darcy says.  She looks at Eleanor’s simple outfit.   “We’ll tell them I’m rich and powerful, anyway,” she amends.

They are in the car and Darcy chats happily about Michael, the man she met two weeks ago at a newsstand.  This will be their fourth date.  He has a friend named Todd.  Eleanor does not see much chance of liking Todd, but she needs the distraction.  She needs to at least try for a life of her own, and a half way normal one at that.

Eleanor has not been on a date since high school, and those hardly counted.  Danny was her best friend before he was her boyfriend.  Dating him changed little, simply adding the physical stuff to their hangouts.

Every other person since was certainly not dating.  Laughably, her longest relationship since Danny was Loki. 

But she won’t let herself think of Loki.

They pick up the men, their dates.  It’s a bit backwards and totally Darcy.  Eleanor smiles when Darcy introduces her to Todd explain that Ellie “never speaks, like, at _all_.”

Todd is nice looking.  He is tall with dark hair and dark eyes.  He is lanky, like Loki.  He wears glasses and his ears turn red when she smiles at him.

Darcy’s planned this whole thing and during dinner Ellie really tries to make polite conversation, but she ends up drinking more wine than is wise.   She is horribly under dressed, but the more she drinks the less she even tries to care.

They go to a karaoke bar after the meal, and Ellie can’t stop giggling.  The boys and Darcy tease each other, all trying to convince someone else to go sing, but Ellie glances at the song list for a few seconds before adding her name to the sign up sheet.   Her first instinct is to sing something sad because she feels sad, but Darcy is having a good time so she goes with something upbeat instead.

Everyone in the noisy bar shuts the hell up as Eleanor sings.  This probably has something to do with the godly thing.  The thought is depressing.

When she gets back to the table Todd is looking at her differently than when she left. 

She sings twice more, once with Darcy and once with Todd, before the bar closes.  Darcy and Michael take the car back to Michael’s.  Ellie agrees to walk to Todd’s for a nightcap.

He kisses her in the elevator.  Ellie closes her eyes and really tries.  This once worked so well for her.  She could focus on this, get lost in this, and it would make her feel better.

Todd tastes wrong.  He is gentle, treating her like glass.  She tugs on his hair, trying to get more out of him, but it’s hopeless.

By the time the elevator reaches his floor, she changes her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  He is panting and glossy-eyed, but Eleanor will not get out of the elevator.  “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” she says, shrugging.  “I just… there was a guy not so long ago and I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“Ah,” Todd says as if he understands.  “Okay.  That’s okay.  We can take it slow.  Do you want to come in while I call you a cab?”

She shakes her head.  Todd sighs and pushes the down button.  He calls her a cab in the lobby and waits with her, asking for her number.  She gives it to him and stores his in her phone, promising to call if she changes her mind.

The cab comes and Eleanor knows she won’t change her mind.

* * *

 

“This is it,” announces Jane for the third time.  Eleanor doesn’t really hear it, but she doesn’t need to.  “We’re here.”

For the past four minutes Ellie has stared at the name by the buzzer.

_The Greens_

That means Laura and her husband and her new baby boy.  Eli Green.

To Eleanor, Laura will always be a Tate, certainly more of a Tate than her, that’s for sure.

Eli was born four days ago.

“Eleanor,” Jane murmurs, reaching out to rub her back.  “We can’t stand out here all night.  It’s freezing and eventually the Avengers are going to track us down.  How are you going to explain to Laura’s woefully uninformed husband when Tony Stark crashes the party?”

Ellie shrugs, still annoyed that she’ll be forced to lie to Laura’s husband.  Although her sister doesn’t know all the details – especially the Loki bits – Ellie’s association with the Avengers is banned from dinner conversation.

“This is really strange for you, isn’t it?” Jane asks.

“Yeah.”  Ellie reaches up to braid her hair.  “First holiday in eight years with these people.  First big holiday without Harrison.”

“Harrison?”

“My fake dad,” replies Ellie.  “My dad,” she corrects.

Jane nods. 

Thor, Tony, and Cap all heard her great confessional in Loki’s cell, and Thor obviously told Jane, but she is actually relived now, to have all her secrets in the open.  She’s been trying to talk to Jane like a friend, relearning how to really confide in others after nearly a decade spent on her own and she’s thankful that going through the whole tale again isn’t necessary.

The door at the top of the staircase swings open, making Ellie jump back in surprise.  Her reaction reminds her of Loki and thinking of Loki never fails to make her heart hurt.

“Hey, guys,” says Laura. “Get your skinny butts in here before y’all come down with hypothermia.”

Jane takes Ellie’s hand, dragging her up the stairs and into Laura’s house.

Her fake big sister babbles happily as she leads them through the brownstone.  Ellie stops in the entryway to the cozy living room, frozen as she watches Maureen smile down at the bundle in her lap.

Ellie wonders if Maureen smiled that way at baby Eleanor.  Maureen glances up and the question is answered.  She is still looking that way at grown up Ellie.

“Eleanor,” say the new grandma.  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she murmurs, feeling oddly shy.

“Come meet you’re your nephew.”

Without really making the conscious decision to do so, Eleanor finds herself sitting next to Maureen, taking a sleepy little red faced, red haired four day old. 

“Hello, Eli,” Ellie murmurs.  “I’m Eleanor.  Nice to meet you.”

Maureen is rubbing her back and Ellie does not flinch away.

“He’s so tiny,” Ellie observes.

“He didn’t feel tiny,” mutters Laura, dropping down on the couch on Ellie’s other side.

“You, my dear, were much smaller,” Maureen says.  “I didn’t let your father hold you much those first few weeks.  He had those big, clumsy hands and you were so small.”

It takes Eleanor a few beats to realize that Maureen is not talking wistfully about baby Laura, her only real child, but baby Eleanor.

Two Tates and one fake Tate coo over baby Eli.  Ellie stays mostly quiet as the baby sleeps in her arms and feels a shift within herself.

For the first time in years she acknowledges a need for these people, a want for family.  Her family.  For so long she struggled to hate Laura for being the perfect, real daughter, just as she struggled to hate Maureen for her disapproval, for making the undoubtedly painful decision to commit a truly deranged Ellie.

There was a time when her hate for her family was real, like a living, burning thing crawling around Ellie’s insides.  All those years ago, Ellie uncovered the truth about her parentage and hate took up residence in her chest.  She trusted her family and they lied.  She tried so hard to be like them and failed.  They never really loved her and how could they?  She couldn’t even stand herself.  Self-loathing stoked her hate and had her turning to drugs to forget and men – and the occasional lady – to make her feel wanted. 

Thinking back on it, Ellie can almost understand Loki’s attempt at genocide.

Almost.

In punishing herself, she punished her fake family, until she almost killed herself, killing her father in the process.

God, how she loved her father.

To her grief stricken and drug-addled mind, Eleanor saw her mother’s decision to commit her as a final abandonment rather than necessary help.  It rekindled her hate, distracted her from her self-loathing, and had her leaving them all behind.

Ellie stares at her sleeping nephew and listens to her mother and sister coo.

Thinking back on her behavior deeply shames Ellie.

Maturity and time have granted her a painful perspective.

Hers were the actions of a spoiled, insecure child and it wasn’t hate for her family that motivated her to hide from them, but crippling guilt.

They take her back now, even when she shunned them for nearly a decade.

Sniffling, Ellie holds Eli a little closer and lays her head on Maureen’s shoulder.  Her mother strokes her hair and no one comments on Ellie’s tears, but they are certainly there.

“You know we named him after you, right?” asks Laura.

Eli.  Ellie.

She shakes her head, feeling stupid for failing to notice.

More tears fall.

* * *

 

“Thank you,” Eleanor murmurs as she descends the stairs with Jane several hours later. 

“What for?”

“Coming with me,” Ellie replies.  “I was nervous and I’m glad you were there.”

“I enjoyed it.  You know I don’t have much family with Erik in Europe and Darcy back with her family in New Mexico.  Thanks for taking me in for the holiday.”

“Food at Stark Tower would have been better, all professionally cooked,” says Ellie.

Jane laughs.  “To bad Tony was probably too drunk to taste it.”

Ellie smiles as they reach the car Tony insisted they take, but stops walking to stare at they sky.  She looks at the stars and thinks of locked up Loki, awaiting his trial. 

She found something close to understanding today and wonders if Loki will ever get that chance.

“I look at the sky when I miss Thor,” Jane murmurs.

Eleanor drops her gaze to her feet.  Despite Jane’s gentle tone, Ellis is so ashamed to get caught thinking of the murderous god that held her captive for three moths.

“It’s okay,” Jane says.  “Now get in the car.  It’s snowing.”

* * *

 

“This is weird.”

“Darcy, just leave it alone.”

“Jane, she’s pacing.  It’s your boyfriend who’s supposed to be zooming down from space sometime this week and she’s the one who’s pacing.  It’s weird.”

In the last two months, the women who started out as simply her bosses have gradually turned into something like friends.  Ellie can’t be sure, of course.  Before Loki, it had been a very long time before she allowed herself friends.

But she likes Jane for her compassion and enthusiasm.  She likes Darcy for her wit and inability to filter her thoughts from her words.  For months she’s spent nearly every day in the company of the astrophysicist and the assistant turned engineer.

It’s been completely horrible, of course, navigating the world post-Loki, but these two women, along with various guest appearances by her favorite Avengers, make the day to day bearable.

“We are talking about her like she isn’t here and she hasn’t even noticed!” shouts Darcy.  “That’s not normal.”

Jane lets out a snort because nothing about life these days is remotely close to _normal_.

Ellie is well aware that her behavior is both odd and alarming to her bosses, but she’s had a very difficult time keeping it together since Tony informed them that Thor would be returning sometime in the next week.

That was six days ago, and the waiting is excruciating.  Thor will bring news and Ellie aches for news.

Ellie paces along the wall of windows, gaze latched on the Asgardian patterns in the New Mexican soil just outside their lab.   The whole building isn’t complete yet, and the lab is just a section of the donut shaped structure that forms a huge circle around the touch down zone for the bridge.

“Should we do something?” Darcy asks.

Jane sighs and a few moments later Ellie feels a hand on her shoulders, compelling her to turn around.  She does so, blinking at Jane.  They are about the same height.  Darcy is only two inches taller, so when it is just the three of them Ellie doesn’t feel so small.  When Steve or Pepper visits, the whole thing is ruined.

“Ellie, sit with us.  Have a drink.  There is nothing left to do but wait and watch our screens.  You’re freaking Darcy out.” Jane’s voice is soft, but her tone is stern.

“Yeah and you don’t want to see me freaked out,” says Darcy.  “Just ask Thor.”

With a final glance to the red ground out the window, Ellie lets Jane lead her to a leather couch in the lounge area of the lab.  She plops into the seat next to Darcy, while Jane sits next to Ellie.  The position provides an expansive view the wide circular space outside where Thor will eventually appear.

It’s a beautiful workspace, courtesy of Stark Industries.  They moved in a few weeks ago, but construction on the adjoining research facility continues.  The lab only takes up a small part of the completed building, the majority of which will serve as some sort of port of entry if they ever manage to fix the Bifrost.  It guarantees that SHIELD will always know when someone comes to Earth through this particular bridge.

But completion of the project is still years away. 

Using the power of Loki’s scepter, Tony devised a means for Thor to travel between worlds without using the Tesseract, which remains safely stowed away in Asgard.  Still, he’ll use this landing sight when he finally decides to show up.

“Drink this,” Darcy suggests, shoving a bottle in Ellie’s hand.  She obeys immediately, gulping down the dark beer so quickly it makes her head spin.

“Okay spill it, Ellie.  Why are you so antsy to see Jane’s boy toy?”

Both Jane and Ellie roll their eyes are this absurd definition of Thor.

“Ellie’s desire to see Thor doesn’t really have all that much to do with Thor himself,” Jane supplies, diplomatic as always. The astrophysicist knows the whole tale, but Darcy was given only the very basics. 

“Weak, Jane,” Darcy mutters, shaking her head and sipping her own beer.  “That was a weak answer.”

Ellie sighs.  It’s probably time to tell Darcy something given that they might almost be friends and everything now.

“It’s about his adoptive brother,” Ellie whispers.

“The crazy hot lunatic who kidnapped you and then totally failed to take over the world?  Thor’s not bringing him back, is he?  Because that would just be nuts.  Fury would shit a brick.  I thought the God of Failing to Invade Earth was rotting away in prison now, right?” Darcy babbles.

“Crazy hot?” Ellie says, scowling at the oblivious woman.

“Yeah, man.  Surely you’ve seen his cheekbones.  Hot as fuck.”

“Darcy!” reprimands Jane.  This is a common occurrence in the lab.

Ellie finishes her beer and accepts another from Darcy.  The mini fridge was Eleanor’s idea and a true stroke of genius.

“I just want to know what they are doing to him,” whispers Ellie.  ‘That’s all.”

“Oh, I got you,” Darcy says, nodding.  “As a victim you need the closure of hearing all about his punishment.  I bet you’re hoping it’s real gruesome.  Have you read those myths? Norse Gods are brutal.”

“No!” Ellie replies, totally horrified.  She clutches her chest, hating herself for all the Googling she did, because yes, those Norse gods are fucking sadistic.  The thought of Loki going through that physically pains her.  “If Odin isn’t a fucking moron he’ll realize brutal and gruesome punishment is the last thing that will help Loki.”

“Help Loki,” Darcy repeats.

“He needs help,” Ellie says with a shrug.  For the first time ever, Darcy is speechless.  Jane sighs and rubs reassuring circles on Ellie’s shoulder blade.

“Thor will help him, Ellie,” Jane says.  Ellie gives her boss a grateful smile.  Jane is very anti-Loki.  She’ll probably never forgive him for attempting to kill Thor on about a hundred separate occasions, but Jane does like Eleanor so she tries to be supportive.

Ellie has another drink.  Jane and Darcy chat about something irrelevant and frivolous, and try as she might, Ellie is unable to pay much attention.  An hour later machines beep, computers whirl, and data comes spilling out of printers.

In a chorus of excited shouts, Darcy and Jane run around the lab.  They call to each other and jot down notes, but Ellie moves to the windows, looking up at the swirling clouds in the dark sky.  There is a blinding blue light, concentrated in the very center of the circle, and three figures materialize.

The one in the center is obviously Thor, with his ridiculous height and width, but as the other two solidify, it becomes obvious that these are strangers, a man and a woman, both as blond as Thor and nearly as tall.

Ellie’s hands fist at her sides as she wills herself to stay put.  Jane is racing through the sliding glass door of the lab, and Ellie refuses to ruin the reunion.  She watches as Jane launches herself at Thor.  He catches her with ease, swinging her off her feet and in a circle as he kisses her.

The pair of Asgardians are very obviously uncomfortable, and the woman a little disgusted.  She clears her throat and Thor reluctantly sets Jane on her feet.  Slinging an arm over her tiny shoulders, Thor gestures with his free hand towards the two strangers, making Jane nod a lot.  The four of them move towards the lab doors and they open before Jane as she swipes her key card.

“Ah, Lady Eleanor,” Thor says as he steps into the lab.  “You look well.  Work with Jane agrees with you.  And you, Lady Darcy, are as bright and lovely as ever.”

Ellie just nods and bites the side of her cheek.  Surely she can wait until after the pleasantries to ask her questions.

“How is he, Thor?” The words seem to burst from her lips with very little thought.  She covers her mouth and watches Thor’s face fall.

“He awaits trial, my lady,” the thunder god murmurs.  “Come.  Let us sit and I will tell you all that has gone on with Loki.”

“Loki?” screeches the Asgardian woman.  She spits out his name as if it’s a curse, but Ellie continues just to look at Thor, trying to read his face.  “In our first moments on Midgard you wish to discuss the traitor prince?”

“Mind how you speak, Hulda,” Thor says with a growl.  “Loki remains my brother and a member of the royal family.  If he does not have your respect I will have your silence at the very least.”

“Yes, my prince.”  The woman scowls at Ellie and then looks around the room with distaste.  “My apologies.”

“Lady Eleanor, Lady Darcy, may a present Hulda and Alvis of Asgard.  They are well versed in the workings of the Bifrost and are here to assist with your work.”

“Hey, guys,” says Darcy.  “Welcome to Earth.”

There is chatting, but Ellie can’t focus.  She bounces on the balls of her feet. 

Awaiting his trial.  For three months?  It seems too long.  Where does he await?  Is he alone?

“Thor,” Jane says.  “Why don’t Darcy and I show Alvis and Hulda around the lab.  Maybe you can sit down with Ellie?”

“Of course.”

With a hand on her elbow, Thor guides Ellie back to the couch she evacuated only a few minutes ago.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hiding her face in her palms before Thor can speak.  “I just…”  She takes a deep, calming breath.  “How is he?”

Thor looks so forlorn Ellie almost does not want to hear the answer.

“I know not, honestly,” Thor confesses.  “He is prevented from speaking.”

“For three months!” she squeaks.  The quiet chatter from the other side of the lab ceases for a moment at Ellie outburst.  She closes her eyes and takes a few deep, calming breaths.  “How does he eat?”

“Odin has magic to prevent him from starving.  I doubt Loki would consume food even if he were physically able.”

“So does he still have to wear the muzzle Tony made?” she asks.

“In a manner of speaking.”  Thor shuffles uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze.

“Just tell me,” she insists.

“His lips are stitched together,” Thor confesses, looking pained.

Ellie’s eyes go wide and she reaches up to trace the line of her own lips.  “Stitched?  With like, string?”

Thor nods.

A shudder runs through Ellie’s body, but she nods at Thor to continue.

“He is imprisoned.  I visit daily but I must admit, as of late he does not seem to recognize my presence.”

Well, that’s just about the worst possible scenario.

“He’s mentally ill, Thor!” she shouts, losing it for a moment.  “You can’t just lock him away and fucking sew his goddamn mouth shut!  That’s cruel.  And fucked up.  And evil!  What sort of douche bag throws their psychotic child in a fucking dungeon?”

Thor looks like he’s torn between being offended and agreeing whole-heartedly with her explosion.

“Lady Eleanor—“

“How long are you going to be here?”  Ellie asks, interrupting.  A plan is already forming in her head.  There is little she can do to help Loki, but she’s got to try something.

She grown tired so examining why she feels the need.

“Two weeks Midgardian time.”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Lady Eleanor,” Thor says as Ellie stands.  “I discussed your parentage with Heimdall.”

There is a potent pause.  Ellie feels like she’s going to cry.

“And?”

“He has seen nothing, but agrees in all likelihood that it was Bragi.  He long ago cloaked himself in from Heimdall’s sight.  For many decades, Heimdall has been blind to Bragi’s location.  I know not of his fate,” Thor says.  “I am sorry.”

Eleanor is oddly relieved.  There is no room in her head for any new information.

“I’ve gotta go,” she says again.

* * *

 

“Here,” Ellie says, slamming the package into Thor’s armor clad chest.  She’s interrupting Jane’s tearful goodbye, but this is important.

The pair of Asgardian Bifrost experts regards her warily, but Ellie doesn’t care.  She’s avoided the lab these last two weeks for favor of working on her own little side project.  Jane’s called to check in and Darcy stopped by her cottage, but neither of her bosses seemed particularly bothered by Ellie’s absence, as long as she kept up with her desk work.

“Lady Eleanor,” he says, clutching the box in a huge hand and studying it in confusion.  “You have come to see us off.  Is this a parting gift?”

“Sorta,” she says with a shrug, taking it back to properly explain.  She opens it up to give Thor a tutorial.  “This is a CD player, okay?”  Thor nods, totally baffled.  “It plays music.  These are headphone.  Ear buds.  They go in your ears.”  Ellie demonstrates and Thor nods again.  “This button with the green star makes the music play.  The one with the red star makes it stop.”

She goes on to explain the batteries and shows Thor how to change them.  She’s included a shit ton of batteries.  She thought about sending him her iPod, but there is no way to charge the device in Asgard, so the CD player and a shit ton of batteries will just have to do.

“It’s for Loki,” she says, tucking everything back into the box and gently placing it in Thor’s out stretched hands.  “He… My voice might help.  Tell him how to use it, okay?”

Thor nods absently.  He gives her a slight smile and then claps her on the shoulder with a bit too much force.

“Take heart, Lady Eleanor,” he murmurs.  “This will help greatly.  I am glad my brother has you.”

The tears come and she’s gone before the trio of Asgardians blast off into space.

* * *

 

Ellie is surprised to find herself actually enjoying her new life in New Mexico.  The dryness of the climate is so unlike any place she’s ever lived.  The colors of the dirt and the mountains are beautiful. The sky seems so big.

At night she looks at the stars and thinks of Loki.

Jane and Darcy move into the residential wing of the newly completed Stark complex adjacent to the lab, but Ellie opts to move in to an old cottage on the edge of the property.  Tony wanted to tear it down.  Ellie claimed it instead.

It has two bedrooms and one bath.  Steve helps her fix it up when he’s in the area.  Laura packed up her shit hole DC apartment when Ellie went missing and as she starts to unpack her old belongings, New Mexico starts to feel like home.

Shortly after Thor leaves, Ellie has a meeting with Fury and some how manages to get back all the instruments and dresses from the bunker.  SHIELD hands over the of Loki’s English books, but keeps the Asgardian ones for further study.

She takes to putting aside her ancient jeans and t-shirts in favor for the floor length dresses.  Even in the lab, she wears her dress and leaves off the shoes.  Darcy teases her but Jane calls her pretty.

Laura calls twice a week.  Sometimes they only talk for a few minutes but sometimes it’s for hours.  They talk about memories, good and bad.  They heal.  Maureen calls once a month. 

Loki is in her thoughts more often than she’d like.  She wonders if the CD helps.

* * *

 

A saw wakes her up. 

The familiar sound has her covering her head with a pillow.  The power tool cuts off and Eleanor keeps her eyes closed, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep, but then it starts again.

She gives up and opens her eyes.  Ellie takes a few moments alone to listen to Steve toiling away in the other room and to admire her pretty ceiling.  It is a beautiful dark wood and just a line of winter morning sun is peaking in through her curtains. 

She is something close to happy.

It may be early, but Cap doesn’t sleep much and she can’t really complain, given he’s working for free. 

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Ellie rolls out of bed.  She pulls on jogging attire before emerging from her room.

Steve is out back on the patio, cutting tile for the back splash in her kitchen.  Last week it was countertops, this week it is tile.

“Sorry,” says Cap when he spies her loitering in the doorway.  “Did I wake you?”

Ellie shakes her head and Steve removes his safety glasses.

“Liar,” he replies.  “There’s coffee.”

“I was going to run first,” she replies, pulling her hair into a messy knot.  “Want to join me?”

“Give me five? I just want to finish up here.”

She nods again, retreating back inside to dig up her shoes.

They run their typical route through the barren, craggy landscape.  Steve vastly outpaces her, even if she’s spent these last few months trying to get healthy.  He leisurely runs half a mile ahead of her before jogging back.  Ellie likes it when Jane joins them.  The girls are at the same level, way below that of the world’s first superhero.

Forty-five minutes later they sit facing each other on stools at the newly completed breakfast bar, sipping coffee.

“Do you need the jeep today?” Ellie asks.  She is red faced, but Steve didn’t even break a sweat.

“No, I think I’ve got everything I need to finish up here,” he says.  “If I have to run into town I’ll come get the jeep from the lab.”

“Sweet.”  Ellie slips off her stool.

She showers and dresses for work, choosing jeans and a patterned black and green blouse.  After hesitating for a moment she selects the dark green scarf Loki left at her apartment that first night.  It was nearly a year ago now.

Back in her nearly renovated kitchen she grabs a yogurt.  Steve is frowning down at her beautiful green granite countertop.

“It’s perfect, Steve,” she says.  The man is annoyingly precise, but there is no doubt that the end result is gorgeous.  She feels a bit bad that she is commandeering the attentions of such a talented and powerful guy, but he calls this vacation and refuses all her offers of payment.

“Oh, I know,” he mutters, looking at his feet.  She doesn’t understand his apparent guilt.

“What?” she asks.

“You really like the color green, huh?”

Now it is Ellie’s turn to stare guiltily down at her feet.

“It’s about him, isn’t it?” Cap asks.

“Does it matter?” Eleanor murmurs, fingering the scarf.  “It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.”

“But you want to.”  The anger in the statement makes Ellie wince.  She gets it, though.  He should be angry, just like she should be angry with herself for allowing these feelings to continue.  “You should hate him, Eleanor.  After everything how can you not hate him?”

Eleanor shrugs and struggles not to cry.

“What did he do to you?” Steve asks, eyes wide and horrified.

Loki came here to rule the world.  Through brutal conquest he meant to make all of humanity kneel.  He wanted submission.  He demanded blind loyalty of those wise enough go willingly, and he would have killed the rest.  In the end, the only thing he managed to conquer was Eleanor.

Even now, months after he was taken back to Asgard, she misses him, worries about him.  He was unable to brainwash her, but she fell for the tragic backstory so like her own. 

He did terrible things.  He killed thousands, kidnapped her, tried to rape her mind, but even knowing all this, Ellie is unable to expel him from her system.  He lingers in her bones.  He irrevocably altered everything about her and now in the aftermath she is unable to hate him, as much as she wants too, as much as he deserves it.

“It’s complicated, Steve.  I’m sorry.”

He sighs heavily, obviously disappointed, and Ellie is about to escape, but it doesn’t feel right.  He deserves more and she can’t stand the thought that she might be leading him on, taking advantage of his very apparent little crush.

“Steve.”  She doesn’t want to bring this up.  It feels presumptuous and Steve is a very dear friend, but he is helping her renovate her cottage and sleeps on her cot when he’s in town, so Eleanor feels like she must say something.  “I went on a date.”

“With who?” he asks, genuinely confused.  There really are not a lot of options on the compound and rarely does she venture into town.

“Not recently,” she says, wishing that her verbal communication sills were a bit better.  This doesn’t have to be awkward, but she is making it that way with her blabbering.  “Like, a month after Loki left.  I went on a double date with Darcy.”

“Okay,” says Steve.  His brow gets scrunched up as he tries to figure out why she’s telling him this. 

“I was trying to be normal,” she explains.  “I was trying to see if there could be anyone besides Loki.  And it didn’t work.  I’m not normal and I know Loki’s gone, but I… just can’t.  Not with anyone else.  Maybe someday I will get there, but it’s unlikely.  Do you get what I am saying?”

Now he looks sad, resigned but not particularly surprised.

“I get what you’re saying,” he murmurs.  “I don’t get why someone like you can be so… so into someone like that, but I understand what you are saying.”

“And I understand if you don’t want to keep working on my kitchen,” she says, hoping that this won’t be the end of their friendship.

Cap smiles and shrugs.  “Consider it rent.  I can’t stand Stark’s modern monstrosity.”

“Okay,” she replies, beaming.

* * *

 

“Nine years ago I killed Dad.”  Eleanor slurs the words into the phone before Laura can even say hello.  Her big sister has called her six time since this morning, but Ellie needed a fifth of whiskey to work up the nerve to have this conversation.

“Oh, Elle.  A drunk driver and horrible driving conditions killed Dad.  Not you,” says her sister.  Because Laura is her sister, despite nearly nine years of separation and no blood ties.

“I’m so sorry.”  Between her slow tongue and drunken sobs, the words are garbled, but Laura understands.

“Eleanor, it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I wasn’t such a drugged out asshole—“

“Stop!”  Laura is angry.  “I can’t have this conversation with you again.  Not today.  I know you are sad and I know it hurts and I know you are always going to feel guilty, no matter what I say, but today I’m sad too.  I just want to remember how great he was, how much he loved us.  Can you try not to drown in your own crap and just remember with me?”

During Laura’s speech, Ellie calms.  The tears slow, the aftermath of such powerful sobs leaving her with hiccups.

“Okay,” she whispers. 

“Mom’s here.  She doesn’t like to be alone on February eleventh.  Do you want to talk to her, too?  We’ll put you on speaker.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

They talk for hours, until Eleanor gets sleepy.  Laura and Maureen do must of the conversing while Ellie listens.  She smiles and laughs as they remember together, something she’s never before done on this day.  They talk fondly off the past and Eleanor remembers what it was like to really, truly have a family.

By the time Laura and Maureen talk themselves out Eleanor summons the courage to share several of her own precious memories of her father.

“I miss him,” she whispers.  Laura and Maureen murmur their agreement.  “I’m so sorry,” she says again, even though Laura doesn’t want her to.

“It wasn’t your fault, baby,” says her fake mother.

“It was,” Eleanor replies. “But I’m not even talking about that right now.  I’m sorry I left you the way I did.  Fuck, you must have been out of your minds with worry.  I’m sorry I was so selfish and that I took out my rage on you that way.  It was easier to hate you, then to risk you hating me.  And I’m just really, really sorry.”

There is crying and gushing and Eleanor is exceedingly uncomfortable.  But Laura and Maureen offer apologies of their own and it feels like shedding skin to emerge fresh and light and new. 

When they finally say goodbye, Eleanor returns their proclamation of love with barely any hesitation.

She only remembers that this day is another anniversary of a life-changing event after hanging up and crawling into bed. 

One year ago today, she met Loki.

* * *

 

When Thor comes back in April he is alone. 

Progress on the Bifrost is slow, but steady.  Jane is giddy with all she learns.  Darcy is tinkering away, attempting to build a machine to connect to the bridge.  Ellie organizes the data, gets the coffee, and tidies the lab.  The work is menial, but Ellie finds she quite likes the quiet little life she is building for herself, work included.

Jane and Darcy are her sorta friends.  Plus, Ellie loves the sun and the heat of New Mexico.  Come spring, she’s planning to plant a garden.

But Loki is always in the back of her mind.  And the front too, more often than she’d like.

So when Thor comes back alone two months after his first visit, Ellie once more is a nervous wreck, desperate for news of the God of Lies.  This time around, Ellie manages to contain herself for a full hour.

Tony is town and he insists on taking them out for dinner.  Ellie waits until the five of them order drinks and Jane gives Thor a lecture on ordering etiquette.

“How is he?” Ellie asks.

Thor gives her a sad smile, as if he pities her.  “Although his predicament remains the same, he is very attached to the device you bestowed upon him.  I can see it in his eyes.  The madness is less prevalent.”

Ellie nods and studies her lap.  “His predicament is the same?” she asks.

“Time holds a different meaning in Asgard,” Thor explains.  “It has not been so long as it has here.  He awaits his trial still.  Traditionally these things take much time to prepare.”

“So that’s still so much of waiting,” Eleanor murmurs. “I have another CD for you.”

Thor nods.  Tony changes the subject.  Ellie thinks about Loki rotting away in a cell.

* * *

 

“Something is happening.  Why is something happening?” mutters Jane as machines beep, computers whirl, and data comes spilling out of printers.  “Thor just left two weeks ago and he isn’t scheduled to return in a month and a half!”

“You don’t think it’s Thor?  Should we tell someone?” asks Darcy, squinting at a computer over Jane’s shoulder.  “I mean, it could be Ellie’s boyfriend back to finish the job or maybe he’s piloting that Destroyer thing again.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and watches the colors in the sky.

But it is Thor and he’s stomping towards the entrance to the lab even as blue energy crackles around him.  He pounds on the glass, frustrated that he can’t get in without a keycard.  Ellie pushes the door release and he marches in.

“Lady Eleanor,” he says, shocking all three women.  Ellie and Jane exchange a puzzled look because usually Thor goes right for his lady upon touch down.  “I bring news of Loki.  A trail date has been set for one Midgardian week.”

Ellie’s knees give out and Thor leads her over to a couch.  Part of her thought he’d spend an eternity wasting away, waiting for his fate to be sealed.  The relief Eleanor feels at this news is misplaced.  He’s been alone in a dungeon for months with his lips sewn shut and they haven’t even doled out his punishment yet.

A shiver runs through Ellie at the thought of what could be awaiting him.

Thor explains, talking in a hushed voice that he can’t quite maintain naturally.  Ellie nods along, trying to understand how the thing Thor is describing could possibly be called a _trial_.  

There will be nothing resembling an attorney or a presentation of evidence.  Loki will not be allowed to speak for himself, although Thor might have a chance if Odin allows it.  Apparently _trial_ in Asgard means Odin and some council of stogy old dudes who hate Loki will recite his crimes to the high born members of Asgardian society before laying down an appropriate punishment.

“What’s an appropriate punishment for something like this?” Ellie whispers.

Thor stays silent for a long moment.  He looks down, studying the hammer at his side.  “I know not,” he replies.

Ellie bites her cheek to keep from screaming at the God of Thunder.  He is a terrible liar.  After millennia with Loki it amazes Ellie that he didn’t pick up anything from his adoptive brother.

“Thor, tell me.”

He sighs heavily.  “A continuation of his imprisonment, I should think.”

“You have to take me,” Ellie demands, strengthening her resolve.  “You have to.  I have to go to this farce of a trial.”

Thor is speechless, but he doesn’t say no.

 


	18. Monsters Hiding Under the Bed

The hour is late and Loki stumbles into Thor when they arrive home.

No, it is the place Loki’s once thought of as home, but not a home in actuality.  Back to the Realm Eternal. 

Thor’s arm comes around his shoulders, steadying him, and for a moment Loki allows it, his attention engaged elsewhere.  He stares passed Heimdall to the broken end of the bridge, all shattered crystal. 

Only seconds on Asgard and already he drowns in memory.

 _No, Loki,_ and his brother pushing him into nothingness.  

“ _Did he really push you, Loki?_ ”  Eleanor’s voice rings in his head.  The question sounds on a loop in his mind.

Loki stares at the destroyed bridge, easily picturing the golden observatory that once resided there, and he honestly cannot find the answer to her query.

Thor is propping him up.  This will not do. 

Loki shoves away from his false brother, scowling from behind the uncomfortable and humiliating muzzle.  In response Thor actually rolls his eyes. 

Where did he learn that?  Never before did Thor roll his eyes.  This is Eleanor’s doing and he tries to hate her as she gave him permission to do. 

It proves difficult.

Thor greets Heimdall, and Loki looks away from the Gatekeeper whom he froze upon their last meeting.

The vastness of space was once beautiful to him, but he now knows what lurks beyond the stars.  Looking out there proves to be unbearable. 

His home, the palace, he cannot look there, nor at the bridge, for they trigger too many memories.

There is nowhere to look.

A group of four approaches, surrounding him, armed as if ready for war.  Once, they might have called him friend – at least for Thor’s sake – but he sent the Destroyer to slaughter them in the small desert community where Eleanor will now be breathing without him.

There is nowhere safe to look, so he closes his eyes and thinks of Eleanor.  It becomes impossible to determine if the image is the true Eleanor or the Eleanor of the Tesseract, but it matters not.  The thought of her allows him to try, as she requested.  Although his speech was prevented at the time, in his mind he promised to try.

A fist connects to his cheek, snapping his head to the side.  In his shock, Loki looses his feet, falling back onto the rainbow bridge that crackles and snaps with energy in response, as if it knows that its destroyer is laid out upon its surface.

Although technically Thor swung the hammer, this was Loki’s doing.

Sif is above him, yelling about Loki killing Thor and Sif killing Loki.  There is a sting to his cheek, but the pain is minimal and this is Sif.  He knows there is nothing to fear from her.  She will not harm him with Thor so close.  Her hair is now dark and he did that long ago but he cannot recall how.

It is Sif only and although his mind knows there is no real danger here, the reaction of his body is pure panic, ever part of him screaming to flee.  Fear chokes at him as he scrambles back, heels struggling to find purchase on the slick surface of the bridge, and even seeing Sif above him, it feels as though he is back in the Void, bound with invisible bonds, begging for death.

The panic fills his chest, jaw straining against the muzzle, silencing his scream, as he struggles to breathe, desperate for his body to calm.

Desperate to flee, desperate for safety,

“Sif!” Thor is yelling, placing himself between Loki and the warrior.  “Contain yourself.”

“He tried to kill you, Thor!”

“My brother is unwell!  Despite his crimes, he is still your prince.  You will not touch him again.”

Sif is furious and silent.

Thor called him _unwell_ and this reminder is enough for Loki to disguise his panic.  He will not let the others see him in such a weakened and humiliating state.  The tightness in his chest does not dissipate, but Loki manages to hide it reasonable well.

He thinks.

Even so, he cannot help but jump in fear when Thor pulls him to his feet.

“Brother?” Thor asks as Loki shies away, the touch making the instinct to flee that much more difficult to ignore.  “Come.  We must be inside before daybreak, before any notice our presence.”

The journey to the palace passes in a haze as Loki fights the fear.  The movements of his five companions make him flinch, anticipating pain with every step.

There is laughter back in his head as they approach the place he once called home. He is unable to look at anything and once inside the walls they are joined by twenty of Odin’s guard. 

Loki wants to go up – to his rooms, to his mother – but his path is down, down, down to the white cells and his newest prison.

* * *

 

There is a narrow bed in the corner, far more comfortable than the mat on the concrete floor, but severely lacking by Asgardian standards.  The rest of the furnishings are simple but greatly exceed his expectations.  Books sit on a small shelf, titles he recognizes as former favorites, but there is no solace to be found within their pages.

Unlike the grey cell, this white one lacks Eleanor.

He sits on the bed, fighting against the panic in his chest and the laughter echoing in his head because Eleanor told him to try.

Thor returns, accompanied by a vaguely familiar healer.  Body tensing in anticipation, he watches them warily.

“Brother,” says Thor.  He addresses Loki with caution, indicating that Loki failed to fully disguise _anything_.  “I will now remove this muzzle.  Is that acceptable?”

Loki nods and tries not to flinch as Thor crowds his personal space.   When the cursed device is gone he stretches his jaw, opening his mouth wide. 

Trying to appear innocent, he holds up his shacked wrists hopefully to Thor.

Thor cracks a smile but the cuffs stay on. 

This room is excessively bright, leaving Loki far too exposed and vulnerable.

“Will you allow Sigyn to examine you, brother?  Perhaps she will be able to determine what ails your mind.”

The words are nearly drowned out by the laughter, but it is no longer the bizarre chuckle of the titan but something lower, colder.  He tilts his head to the side, recognizing the sound but struggling to place where he’s heard it before, to whom it belongs.

Frost coats his skin as the memory returns.

 _Laufey_.

Suddenly it is not Thor and Loki and the vaguely familiar healer in the white cell, but Thor and Loki and _Laufey._

The dead king approaches, looming giant and grotesque above Loki, baring his sharp teeth.

“You are dead!” shrieks Loki, jumping to his feet.  Instinct has him pushing Thor back, protecting him from the Frost Giant before them because Thor’s skin is vulnerable to freezing where Loki’s is not. 

Thor is yelling, holding Loki back by his elbows as he attempts to lunge.

“I killed you, Laufey!  Laufeyson, Laufeyson, Laufeyson.  Well, no more.  I committed patricide to ensure that.  Frost Giant I may be, but not _Laufeyson_.  You are dead!  Be dead!  Be dead.”

Laufey sobs, covering his mouth.  “Frost Giant?” he murmurs, shocked.

“Loki, stop!” yells Thor.

“You made me a monster!”  Loki continues to struggle with his brother’s grip on his arms, dragging him back and away from Laufey.  “You created me this way and then left to me to die. You made me this and I killed you for it.  Be dead!”

“He knows not what he says.”  Thor is speaking to Laufey.  It is unfathomable.  Thor is speaking _kindly_ to Laufey.  “He is no Frost Giant.  This is the madness only.”

Laufey looks both skeptical and horrified.

“You are no brother of mine, _Odinson_!” spits Loki, struggling wildly against his false brother.  Even in this moment with the dead king before them, Thor is denies what Loki is, failing to be on Loki’s side.  “You are no brother of mine.  I am the—“

Pain slices through his mouth and the words strain against the inside of his lips, unable to escape.  He raises a hand to his mouth, feeling the stiches there.  His palm comes away bloody.

Understanding dawns even as his jaw struggles to break the thread and he glances around because there is only one who would stiches his mouth together in such a way.  Peering out through the transparent wall of the prison he sees gaping guards and horrified healers.  Sif is snarling her disgust while the rest of the warriors recoil, repulsed by Loki’s truth, but the Allfather is not among the gawkers.

He is close enough to sew Loki’s mouth shut, but he stays hidden.

The Allfather is hidden and Laufey is gone and Thor’s fingers dig into his elbows.

Loki realizes too late what’s he has done, what he has said.

Overcome, Loki wrenches away from Thor and collapses on the bed.  The white cell is too bright, exposing him to the appalled crowd.  He rolls off the mattress, crawling under the bed to the darkest corner.  He closes his eyes and tries to picture Eleanor.

He tries to try.

* * *

 

There are hushed, angry voices, and Loki wonders if this is a dream. 

“Why was I not informed the moment you arrived?”  It is his mother.  She is furious. 

“Mother, we decided you needed to rest.  And Loki is dangerous.  Father said—“

“I am quite tired of the things your father says,” she snaps.  “Before I was given a chance to speak to my son for the first time in years, your father stitched his lips shut!”

“He could hurt you.”

“He will _not_ hurt me.” 

Loki decides this is a good dream.  His mother is here.  She is cross with both Thor and Odin, while she defends Loki. 

He feels the thread that holds his lips together with his tongue, stinging the puncture wounds.

“Mother, he announced his heritage to the whole cell block!  Too many now know what he is to keep the secret.”  Thor is terrible at whispering. 

“I am not ashamed of my son,” Mother says, quiet and strong.

“This is about protection,” Thor continues.  “This news will spread to the public, winning him no sympathy for his trial.  And being… what he is may not be a crime, but if Loki was to give up other secrets he would die for it, Mother.”

She sniffs and Loki decides that this now a bad dream because his mother is crying.

“As cruel as it seems, the Allfather is protecting Loki from himself.”  Thor is frantic, barely remembering to even try to whisper.  “Mother, if anyone were to know that it was Loki who led the Frost Giants to Asgard, who led Laufey to father’s chamber, there would be no choice.  The law is clear.  Even father would be unable to commute the death sentence for such an offence, no matter the circumstances.”

Oh.  _Death_.

Loki finds he is rather impartial to death.  He might even welcome an end once more, but Eleanor would not like it. 

As she told him of her own attempt at suicide Loki’s reaction was a visceral combination of anger and sorrow.  He could imagine nothing worse and it now seems unfair to put Eleanor in that position, even if what she feels for him is a laughably small fragment of what he feels for her.

“I’d rather not die.”  He attempts to tell Thor and his mother but the words do not come out and he grunts in frustration.

Suddenly Frigga drops to the floor, lying flat as she stares at him under the bed.  Her appearance is startling and Loki shies back, whimpering as she reaches towards him.

“Mother,” Thor scolds, still on his feet.  Loki’s gaze flicks to his boots before continuing to stare at his mother.  “I told you.  Announce your movements.  It helps.”

“Oh, Loki,” she says through her tears.  Loki regards her outstretched hand warily.  “My son.  I love you.  I am so sorry.”

Her words are best ignored.  He simply stares at her.

“Thor,” she says, turning away for a moment.  Loki is disappointed to lose her attentions to his older brother.  It is a familiar feeling.  “The key.”

“That is not wise.  Mother, he could hurt you.”

“The key!”

She returns a moment later, watching him again.  “Loki?  I would like to remove your shackles.  May I?”

He squints at her for a moment, wondering if the next time he blinks she’ll turn into Laufey or the titan or some new horror.

He blinks.

She is there still, his mother.

He extends his wrists slowly, flinching when her fingers touch his skin but there is no burning and there is no pain.

Still, when she frees him from the constraints he pulls back, squeezing into the corner.  The movement has his mother frowning, but she makes no comment.

“Loki, you are safe.”

No, he is far from safe.

“You are home.”

He has no home.

“I will let no further harm come to you.”

Doubtful.

“I love you.”

Impossible.

“And I will lie here as long as you’ll have me.”

Acceptable.

* * *

 

“Will you teach me?”  Her voice is the auditory equivalent of ripples, each syllable echoing in his mind and rebounding.  It is beautiful, but listening to it is difficult to bear.

It is too much beauty for one pair of ears.

“Teach you, my dear?” That is his voice, low and serpentine as always.

He does not recognize their location.  It is as if they exist in a world painted with thick brush strokes and bright colors.  The sky is purple, but Eleanor wears green.

The music of her giggle bounces off mountains and she pushes him back in soft grass, throwing a leg over his waist and coming to rest on his stomach.  Radiating light, she leans down until they are nose to nose.

“Magic,” she whispers.

“Teach you magic,” he repeats.

“Teach me to sing.”

It is Loki’s turn to laugh.  His hands are in her hair, holding the mess back from her face and his own.  “You already know how to sing, darling.”

“Not all at once,” she whispers.  “Teach me to sing all at once.”

The meaning of her words is unclear, but Eleanor is happy and she is with him.  Her happiness makes him happy in turn, happier than he can ever recall being before.

He returns her smile.

But suddenly she is sitting up.  There is a furrow between her brows as she frowns.

“Loki?” she asks, troubled.

“Eleanor?”  He props himself up on his elbows and she steadies herself with hands on his chest.

“Are you trying?”

“Trying to teach you to sing all at once?”

“No.”

He sits up fully now, her concern now bringing him concern.  She is weeping and no matter how often he wipes at her cheeks they will not dry.  The world goes grey.

“Are you trying, Loki?  Please, Loki, you’ve got to try.”

The world goes white.  He is on a floor, under a bed.  Eleanor is mist.

“To keep my mind,” he murmurs.  Except no words come, just a mumbles escaping the seam of his lips.

“Yes.  Try.”

And she is gone.

* * *

 

He is back in the Void. 

Loki finds himself trapped where it is all fire and terror, crippling loneliness and tangled words.  This is a world of his own making, a memory taking on life of its own, but it feels real and more often than not he believes it to be so. He believes the lies created by his own head and turned against him.  He tells himself it is not real, but the pain and terror have him forgetting.

He is imprisoned in a blinding white cell, huddled under the narrow bed, trying desperately to hold on to any landmark that will keep him firmly in this reality, away from the Mad Titan and his Other. 

He is with Eleanor, sitting in the sunshine and she smiles and she loves him.

And always he returns to the white room with its modest furnishings and its untouched books and its great transparent walls.  Loki huddles under the bed, reminding himself that this is truly reality because this place is the only constant.  He is alone and imprisoned far beneath his childhood home.

He is safe.

For the time being.

Thinking of Eleanor assists as he desperately attempts to stay firmly in this reality and he hates her for it.  A little speck of a woman with no greater significance in the wider universe has power over him and he absolutely loathes her for it.

Occasionally, his mind conjures images he first witnessed in the Tesseract.  Eleanor lies at his side, under the bed, smiling in her crown of gold and emerald.  At such times he desperately attempts to stay in the delusion, to stay with Eleanor.

But she never lingers long and he always finds his way back to the white cell, alone until the Queen of Asgard comes.  This delusion is equally painful, but in a much different way.

* * *

 

“This is a pollution of the mind,” says the healer.  It is a different healer, not the one who turned into Laufey. 

From under the bed he watches pale robes swirl around her feet.  Once, a very long time ago, Loki knew her voice, her face, her name, but the memory has been replaced with horrors, vile things like a wide leather face and the difference in smell between his own rotting flesh and the burning variety.

“What plagues the prince is far outside my experience.  The Asgardians do not suffer from such mental ailments.”  The healer’s message is clear.  Loki is not of Asgard.  He is no Aesir.  “We have the ability to turn off such pains and I have never seen delusions on such a scale.”

“But he is deteriorating so rapidly.”  Nothing could replace the memory of his mother and now her voice is full of sorrow.  Loki wonders if this is real, if she is real.  “He has been here days.  And he no longer sees me.  He looks, but he does not see.  He isn’t _here_.”

He hopes he is not here.  How shameful, to hide under a bed like every child’s worst fear. 

Loki is a languishing nightmare.

The monster parents tell their child about at night, indeed.

“When he first arrived, he recognized me,” his mother continues.  “Tell her, Thor.  He was not like this on Midgard.”

“His condition was much improved on Midgard,” repeats Thor.  “Lady Eleanor was able to talk him through his bouts of insanity.  The mortals have such illnesses of the mind and Lady Eleanor has personal experience.  It is rather common, from what I understand.”

At least Eleanor is not here to witness his shame.  This is the one blessing with her so far away.

Although she has endured much worse from him and in all likelihood she’s already forgotten him.

“I will research these Midgardian illnesses,” says the healer.  “And I could try to put him to sleep.  He is in much need of rest, but there is little I can do without laying hands on him. Ideally, I would get him in the Soul Forge, but he will not allow it.  ”

No, he certainly will not.

“Leave us,” says his false mother.  “You as well, Thor.”

A door closes.  Loki drifts, wondering if this is real, wondering where his body truly is.  If his body is in the Void than this is a blessing, but he hates to think that he could possibly be missing something with Eleanor.

There are feet at the edge of the bed.  He watches them, watches the hem of the blue dress that leave toes visible.  He’s forgotten the healer’s name, but he remembers his mother’s toes.

“Loki,” she murmurs from above.  “I am kneeling down now.”

He understands and appreciates her warning.  Sudden movements never fail to lead to tightness in his chest.

The Queen of Asgard is lying on a cold, hard floor, the white floor of his white cell.  She rests on her stomach, removing her crown to more comfortably place her head on one hand.  The other she stretches towards Loki where he is pressed back into the corner.

With his back to the wall, nothing can surprise him from behind.

There is a memory of her in a similar position, but he cannot decide if it truth or lie.

After a few long, silent moments, Loki cautiously reaches out, touching the back of her hand with two fingers.

He jumps at the contact, startled to feel her solid and real.  His mother sobs slightly when he lets her lace their fingers together, but he resists the urge to crawl closer, to feel her solid and real arms around him.  At any moment she could easily shift into the Other or Laufey or the Mad Titan.

The potential for comfort is not worth the risk, nor does he deserve it.

“Oh, my son,” murmurs the queen.  “How do we help you?”

This is not occurring in reality.  He’s given Frigga no reason to care for him.  He is unworthy of her help.

“I love you,” she continues.

Loki decides to enjoy this comparatively pleasant delusion, as he enjoys the presence of Eleanor.  He allows the false mother to hold his hand and she stays for what feels like a very long time.

* * *

 

“Loki?”

The voice is loud and although sleep is an impossibility, Loki resents it for disturbing his quiet.  For the first time in days there is no laughter in his head and the booming absolutely ruins the silence.

“I have returned from Midgard bearing gifts,” says the far too loud voice.  “I have seen the Lady Eleanor.  Remove yourself from under this bed and I will give you what she entrusted to me.”

Midgard?  Eleanor?

The Mad Titan would have him rule Midgard.  And is Eleanor the girl from the dream?  The one who requests he teach her to sing all at once?  In the end she always frowns, reminding him to try.

He cannot recall what she wants of him, what he promised.

Oh, _Eleanor_.

Eleanor Tate of North Carolina, his songbird. A dream and not a dream. 

The dream version smiles but he promised the real flesh and blood woman that he would try.

To fight the madness.

And hasn’t he just done a marvelous job with that?

“Loki?  Come out and I will give you Eleanor’s gift.  She asks of you.”

He does not willingly leave the privacy of under the bed and when he’s ripped away from here he always opens his eyes to the strangling darkness of the Void, to the titan with his blade and laughter and fire and words.

But Thor can prove stubborn at the most inconvenient of times.  Loki has no words to convince him to hand over the gift.

The Crowned Oaf of Asgard has something of Eleanor’s and Loki wants it.

With great trepidation Loki emerges from under the bed.  He cannot say how long he was there.  Thor seems to have aged since Loki last laid eyes on the thunder god.  There is weariness in the crinkles surrounding his blue eyes, something that speaks of experience and sorrow.

Thor is tired.  Loki does not sleep and Thor looks so tired.

Loki’s legs are shaky and gripping the bedpost becomes a necessary component to staying on his feet.  There are no onlookers now with their noses pressed to the glass of his white cell, greedy for the next horrifying secret to come to light.

Just Loki and Thor alone in the white cell.

Loki flinches violently when Thor smiles, but the God of Thunder wisely stays on the other side of the room.

When Loki pushes his hair back is surprised to find it so greasy and long and curly.  Eleanor brushed it for him in the grey cell, insisting he bathe.

He’s forgotten all about personal hygiene.  Did appearances once matter?  He thinks they once did.

“Brother,” Thor murmurs.  “In this package I have a music player from Lady Eleanor.  I will now hand it to you.”

Thor slowly does as he says, but there is still too much space separating them and Loki is forced to take a step towards his false brother.  He darts forward, wrenching the package from Thor before stumbling back to lean against the bedpost.

In the box he finds a circular device of plastic and metal, headphones, and countless Midgardian power sources.

“She calls it a CD player,” his false brother explains, as Loki runs his hands over smooth plastic.  “Not the latest in Midgardian technology, but able to regenerate its power with these… um… batteries.  The button with the green star will play music.  The red will—“

Thor’s bumbled recitation of Eleanor’s obvious directions cut off abruptly when Loki removes the red star from her music player and flicks it in the general direction of the thunder god.  His aim is true.  The little red star sticks to Thor’s chin.

They stare at each other in shocked silence for a moment before Thor laughs, removing the star with his fingertip.  Loki is horrified to feel himself smile in return.  Blood leaks from the puncture wounds around his stiches.

“I imagine you would like to listen to Eleanor’s recordings in peace,” Thor murmurs.  “Unless you would rather I stay?” 

Even after all that has occurred, Thor is stupidly hopefully.

Loki shakes his head, cradling the music player to his chest. 

“Very well,” Thor says with a sigh.  “I shall return soon, brother.”

The white cell is once more his own and in his haste to explore this blessing in the form of archaic Midgardian technology, he lies down atop the bed rather than crawling beneath it.  He curls on his side, shoving the buds into his ears and pressing the green star.

When her voice floods his ears, he weeps like an infant.

_“Hi.”_

She seems to breathe the word onto the opening selection. The simple greeting is spoken without confidence, as if she is shy and uncomfortable opening her mouth at all.

“ _I’m not really sure what I’m doing here, or even why I’m doing it, but it feels important somehow.  Can you try to listen?  I know you’re not very good at it.  I know you’d rather all the twenty-seven realms listen to you, but that’s just not going to happen.”_

Loki rolls his eyes.  She can never seems to remember that it is _nine_.

_“Can you just try and listen? Remember how I asked you to try and keep your mind?  To fight for your sanity? Maybe if you hear my voice you will know that you are safe.  Maybe your head won’t be so scary.”_

Loki curls tightly around the blessed machine.  He whimpers and recalls her image, clearly picturing the way her lips move around each word.

_“Thor says you are alone with your lip sewn shut, which is pretty fucked up by the way.  What is the deal with you Norse Gods and the brutality?”_

There is no reason for this statement to cause him to smile, but it does.  More blood flows from his mouth.  He can feel it dribble down his neck, but makes no move to wipe it away.

_“Anyway… You are Loki.  You are real.  I am Eleanor.  I’m real too.  Right now you are imprisoned in Asgard and I’m on Earth.  On Midgard.  I’m safe.  You’re safe too.  Well, relatively safe.”_

Loki remembers his time locked away in Stark Tower after his great failure.  These are all answers to questions he frequently asked Eleanor when the fog of the Void lifted.

 _“Okay, I’m nervous,”_ Eleanor continues. _“Usually I don’t talk when I’m nervous, but staying silent and sending you significant looks until you manage to decode what I’m trying to convey isn’t really an option right now.”_

Deep breath.  Long pause.  Loki holds on to the familiar and soothing cadence of her voice, uses it to do as she says and fight the tinkling laughter that is in his mind only.

_“Loki, Prince of Asgard, God of Lies and Mischief and Chaos and that really awesome thing you do with your silver tongue.”_

His smirk is more painful than the smile.

“ _I am really mad at you.  You did terrible, stupid, horrible things.  You killed innocent people and have such hate in you it scares me, but according to Thor the old dudes in charge of punishing you are just going to lock you away all by yourself for a couple hundred years, and that’s just going to make it worse.  You’re sick, Loki. Heartsick.  Soul sick.  Mind sick.  And I want to help you because if there’s no hope for you, than there’s none for me either.  Just listen to my voice, all right?_

She is babbling.   Loki will find the meaning behind her words later.  For now he simply revels in the sweetness of the tone in his ear, drowning out the laughter.

_“You’ll be happy to know I recorded all these songs using Tony Stark’s equipment without his permission.”_

Who is this Tony Stark?  How dare he be anywhere near what is Loki’s!

_“I’ll help you listen because you’re not very good at it.  Some of them are angry songs because I am so angry with you.  Some of them are about me missing you, which I do because I’m obviously a crazy person.”_

Loki snorts.  Of the two of them Eleanor is certainly the least crazy.

_“Some just remind me of you. Some I just think you will like._

_“I’m in New Mexico.  I like it here.  It is warm and the sky is so big.  At night I lie down and look at the stars and I think about you out there somewhere.  There are all these meaningless little moments throughout my day and my first thought is always ‘oh, Loki would hate this,’ or maybe, ‘Loki would find this hilarious.’  It’s silly, but it helps somehow.  I have this coworker, boss type person, Darcy.  You’d want to prank the shit out of Darcy.”_

Loki sighs, itching to reprimand her bad language.

_“Sorry for the language.”_

He is smiling and bleeding again.

_“If… If you still want to hate me that is fine as long as it helps you fight to keep your mind.  Hate away, I say.  Hate me and don’t listen to this. Otherwise, maybe these songs will give you something to hold on to.  Okay.  Here we go.”_

He replays this first selection.  He replays it over and over and over.

In the white cells of the golden palace, Loki learns of lyrics.  He learns to listen. 

All those nights in his chambers on Midgard and he never paid much attention to the meaning behind the beautifully sung words leaving her mouth.  In the past, he simply let the melody and the tone of her voice wash over him, soothing his tortured soul.  He failed to bother paying much mind to what she was actually _saying._

A smile tugs at his stitched together lips – followed by a wince – when he recalls her explanation of the very first song she sang for his ears only, a silly number about sheep she attempted to turn into an allegory for divine rule.

Now that he is learning to listen, Loki wonders just what she was telling him nightly in the bunker.  He recalls lyrics involving sex and love and hate and freedom.  Now that he listens, the depth of her past insolence is revealed to him.  For the first weeks of their time together, she mocked him with her every word, her every breath. 

The songs on this disk are a very different sort, but he focuses intently on the past.

Those nights, her voice, were once scarred to him, but it was never more than jest and rebellion to her.

How could he be so stupid to think anything better of any he so foolishly allowed close?

It is the doing of her damned music player.  He would be better off not knowing all the ways she disrespected him. In his rage Loki pushes away the device, crawling under the bed once more.

For three days he stews in his hatred.

It is something of a miracle that he is able to know that three days have passed since he violently ripped the buds from his ears, cursing her name.

He tries to hate her and he thinks on the revelations brought about by the music device she sent.

The knowledge that she bested him with her damnable lyrics rankles.  For three days following the discovery of her betrayal he devotes every thought and dream to making her pay, to bringing her to her knees and asserting his ownership over the very essence of her being.

_I will never be truly yours, Loki. I won’t ever truly be yours because you can’t totally possess someone without giving yourself back in return._

The memory of their last true conversation in the bunker seems to flay his insides, bringing him more pain than the Other ever could, especially when compared with the lost possibilities the Tesseract so cruelly showed him.

He misses her, aches for her, and hates her for this too.  She does not care for him.  This was her plan for the entirety of their time together.  Eleanor made him care, knowing full well the pain that would take him upon their separation. 

This is Eleanor’s punishment, pay back for the evils he forced upon her.

But despite the unpleasant revelations the music brought, she sent him the player to help.  She said as much in her introduction and Loki can’t hate her.

His dark contemplation is for not.  He has no hope of laying eyes on his songbird ever again.  He’ll rot away here in the white cell or perhaps on the Isle of Solitude, mind slowly going as a result of the solitary confinement the council is sure to sentence him with, until long after all her mortal years are spent.

_Except she isn’t mortal.  Not totally._

The thought gives him hope.  It is a dangerous little light that glows in the pit of his stomach, pushing him to _try_.  He needs her voice and after three days of silence he forgives her for her slights against him with her songs of rebellion.

Now, he regards the music player warily, as if it will be responsible for yet another painful revelation, exposing the true nature of the woman who somehow managed to burrow into his very being.

He is so tired of failing, so tired of being wrong, that he would rather not know.  He would rather believe her lie, the one that tricked the trickster into feeling something other than hate.  He would rather believe that the visions of the Tesseract remain possible.

The call to hear her voice after three days of silence proves too great.  He pushes the green star, curls himself into a ball on the hard white floor under the simple narrow bed, and closes his eyes.

* * *

 

“Loki,” she says.  “Are we every going to get out from under this bed?”

The stitching around his mouth makes speech impossible, but he shakes his head and she understands.

“You feel safe here,” she says, lifting her beautiful blonde head from his chest to look him in the eye.  “Out there is too bright, too white.  You can’t hide out there, with the glass wall and the lights.  You feel safe here.”

This time he nods.  Eleanor strokes his hair and he smiles, barely noticing the painful tug on his puncture wounds.

“I’ll stay here with you.”  She answers his silent plea.  “I love you.  I love you, Loki.”

And he believes her.  And he loves her back.

He closes his eyes, hugging her close and pushing his nose into her soft curls, but when he opens his eyes once more she is no longer in his arms.

The blackness is crippling and Eleanor’s pale, naked skin seems to glow in stark contrast to the dark.  Her arms are extended up and out above her head, legs splayed.  Invisible bonds hold her suspended, surrounded by nothing but suffocating _nothing_.

With painful slowness her limbs twist, and he hears the joints pop from her sockets.  Her screams nearly drown out the cracking of her bones as the twisting continues. 

She does not beg or question.  This is her life now and no answer will explain the pain because there are no reasons, but she has not yet lost her voice.

Loki struggles to reach her, to save her, even if it means putting her out of her misery, but he is immobilized, swallowed up by darkness.

Nothing.  He is nothing at all but a pair of eyeballs, trained on the broken body of his lover.

And he watches as her pale skin in pained red with her own blood.  Her skin is peeled back, layer by layer, but Loki cannot reach her, not until she looses the will to scream.

She crumples and Loki exists again, catching her, trying to hold her in a way that avoids broken bones and chard, bleeding flesh, but it is impossible.

He tries to say her name, but his lips are still stitched together.  Tears obscure his vision, making it all the more painful.  These are his final moment with Eleanor and he cannot even properly see her.

“You’re free,” she says, wheezing.  Her eyes flicker closed.  “Sweetheart, you are free.  You are free.”

And she is gone.  And he would be gone to, if he had any say in the matter.  Eleanor is dead and he would give all to join her, to make the pain stop.

“That is where she is wrong,” says the amused, disembodied voice.  Loki tries to scramble away, but there is only darkness, only Eleanor’s lifeless body.  “You are far from free.  Freedom is life’s great lie.  Once you accept this, in your heart, you will know peace.”

And so it begins.

Yet again.

* * *

 

The fourth song is his favorite.  She sings about starlight, reminding him of things she couldn’t possibly know, but there is such urgency in her voice and Loki finds himself moved.

There are seventeen in total, each containing Eleanor’s voice accompanied by a variety of instruments.  Most feature her and the piano.  Loki wonders if she knows that this is his instrument of choice, second only to her voice.  Several include the acoustic guitar and on one she plays the banjo. 

On track twelve she debuts her skills on the violin.  She does not sing and play simultaneously, but the music she produces is so beautiful Loki weeps once more.

Loki loses track of the days.  All of his time is spent either delusional, his mind back in the Void with the pain and the fire and _him_ , or listening to Eleanor’s voice.  With her music, Loki struggles to hold on to his sanity.

She asked him to try.

Some days are better than others.  There are moments where the memories are clear enough for him to analyze his actions on Midgard and think about the reality of his false life before.  In many ways, the completely sane days are the worst because the memories burn him as badly as the fire of the Void.

Without a doubt those delusions involving Eleanor are by far the most painful because they always come to an end.

Still, sanity proves a curse as well.  He is a monster and they lied and Loki is left with nothing.  Not even his mind remains unscathed.

On these days of unbearable clarity, he turns back to Eleanor’s voice for comfort and a means to forget.

The confusion is so frustrating.  Loki’s strength has always been with his mind and his magic.  Now he has neither.

The small cylinders that power the Midgardian music player stop working long after Loki loses track for the days and the pain compounds. 

He nearly tears his own hair out in a failed attempt to clear his mind.

* * *

 

Flaming metal rods strip his skin over again a thousand times.  Actual blood runs down his throat as his silenced screams pull at the stitches in his lips.

No one arrives to serve as a distraction from pain and memory and delusion.

He seems to suffer in an endless loop for a thousand lifetimes, but then his false brother returns with a case full of powerful cylinders and second disk full of music.

Thirty-four songs in total, plus the track that is simply her talking, and it feels like enough to sustain him for eternity.

* * *

 

He memorizes all the lyrics to all the songs.  He nearly uses up the second case of batteries.  Thor visits are the only way to mark the days, despite his long periods of absence, and sometimes he sees his mother but this is just another delusion, a pleasant one that is only slightly less heartbreaking than Eleanor’s appearances.

Then his trial is announced.

It matters little to him.

If his first attempt at suicide were not such a complete failure, he’d once more strive to take his own life.  He does not have the strength to fail once more so he does nothing but hide under the bed, like the monster he truly is.

Twenty of Odin’s personal guard arrive to escort him to the sentencing.  He watches them gather, peaking out from under the bed at their heavy boots.  Eleanor’s gifts are safely hidden beneath the mattress.

The bed is removed and he is exposed.  He curls himself into a tight ball and backs into a corner.

These minions of Odin are speaking to him, but he can do nothing but stare at the gaping holes of their mouths as they yell, demanding something from him.  Always demanding something from him.

He flinches and winces but they fail to notice.

Thor is here, announcing his ever movement and getting close to Loki when the others refuse to do so, too craven to even step away from the door.  The God of Thunder kneels in front of Loki.  A memory of Thor in a similar position flickers through his poisoned mind, but Loki is unable to determine if it is reality or something twisted by the fire of the titan.

One of the guard hands Thor a cloth and a basin of water.  Loki can do nothing but blink as his false brother gently washes the blood from his face and neck.  Thor has never cleaned anything in his long life, so Loki decides this is just a strange new delusion.

He reaches for Eleanor’s music device, but Thor prevents his movements, snapping shackles on Loki’s wrists.  He closes his eyes and attempts to conjure Eleanor, but it is an absolute failure.

With massive hands placed in the pits of his underarms, Thor hauls Loki to his feet.  The thunder god does not let go until Loki is steady enough to shake him off.  Summoning all his mental energy, Loki attempts to change this ridiculous delusion.  He can do nothing but scowl as Thor pushes Loki’s dark hair off his pale forehead, pulling it back and securing it with a tie.

The guard who delivered the basin takes hold of the chain connected to Loki’s manacled wrists.  He stumbles once as he exits the cell for the first time in what feels like eons, but then manages to find his feet.

Passively, unseeingly, he moves up with his escort.  When they emerge from the bowls of the city, Loki is forced to close his eyes in deference to the bright light, somehow different from the white of his cell. 

He wishes to be under his bed, with Eleanor.

The group takes the familiar path to the throne room.  Loki tries to clear the fog and locate Eleanor’s gift, but it proves impossible.  He’s listened to her songs so many times he has learned each piece by rout so he starts at the beginning, reciting the words of her introduction from the first, breathless “ _hi_.”

If he speaks the words out loud or says them only in his head, Loki cannot say.

Loki only gets halfway through the second song when he is jolted out of his mind once more as the guard comes to an abrupt stop.  Without turning his head Loki drags his gaze around the golden expanse of Odin’s domain.

He ignores the sea of Asgardian upper echelons completely, but when he takes in the royal family and the spot once reserved for him a shiver runs through his exhausted, weakened frame.

For one painful moment he locks eyes with the woman who he once called mother and he feels his cold, dead heart swell before he drops his gaze to his feet.

In his kingly voice, Odin reads of Loki’s crimes, against Asgard and Midgard.  There is a brief mention of genocide on Jotunheim, but it is obviously not of great concern to the Allfather. 

Loki goes back to replaying Eleanor’s songs in his head, or perhaps singing the words out loud. Little about the situation holds any interest what so ever for him.

The words drone on and Loki continues to stare at his feet, all the while hearing Eleanor’s songs until a particular phrases garners his attentions.

A century of solitude. 

This is Odin’s solution for the rouge prince.  Loki feels the first fluttering of panic in his veins.  Before he can hope to recover any of his magic, he must heal his mind.  Given the fog in his head, a century of solitude might prevent this from ever happening. 

He remembers the crippling loneliness of the Void and the lifetimes he spend alone, rotting in space.

The thought of losing his sanity for eternity is truly terrifying.

Loki sends Odin one pleading look before he remember his pride and once more stares at his feet.

He stares at his feet and wonders how many batteries he would need to power the music player for a hundred years.

His heart rate accelerates and he locks his jaw to prevent the sounds of his distress from escaping between his sewed together lips.  This isn’t a delusion and once he’s led out of the throne room, he won’t see another living soul for a _century_.

Who knows what – or who – his poisoned mind will conjure in a century of solitude.

“I object!”

At the sound of her high, clear voice, Loki’s head snaps up with such speed he can actually hear the creak in his disused bones.

Surely she is a delusion.  There is no other possible explanation.

Although she is only as tall standing as many Asgardians are sitting, Loki identifies her location immediately.  She stands several rows back in a familiar green dress with golden swirls looking both completely shocked by her own words and thoroughly determined.

“I… um… object,” she says again, scowling at Odin.

The silence in the crowed throne room is thick and heavy.  Loki’s lips twist into a wicked smile and he ignores the blood dribbling down his chin as he takes pleasure in the shock of the Asgardians.

Eleanor is nothing but a slip of a near mortal yet she stands before the ruling class of the gods, objecting to the terms of the trickster’s imprisonment.

Yes, this is a delusion.  Only Loki’s twisted mind could possibly have conjured such a situation.  Even if Eleanor was standing before him in reality, there is no chance of her objecting to Loki’s punishment.  He thinks back to the bruises on her neck, the way she insisted she would never be his, all those painful possibilities he saw with the Tesseract that will never come to fruition.

Eleanor has more reason than most in Asgard to hate the God of Lies and even if she doesn’t by some miracle, she doubtless wants him punished.

He endeavors to seize control of the delusion by having Eleanor meet his eyes, but his poisoned mind refuses to cooperate.

Loki goes back to singing her songs in his head, thoroughly enjoying the delusional chaos that ensues around him.


	19. Something Reckless

“What does one even pack for a trip to a different planet?” Jane says from the depths of her closet.  Ellie sits cross-legged in the middle of her bed, watching Jane freak out.  Darcy is on the floor, absently reading a magazine.

“Realm,” Ellie corrects.

“I have nothing to wear!” shrieks Jane.  Ellie chuckles.  Darcy rolls her eyes.

“Jane, you are getting dangerously close to bitching,” Darcy says, scowling in Jane’s general direction.  “If I hear you bitching about getting to go to Asgard I will seriously lose it.  You lucky assholes.  I can’t believe you two are leaving me here alone.”

Jane growls and throws clothes out onto the foot of the bed.  Ellie collects them, smoothing out wrinkles and selecting the ones she deems worthy for the Realm Eternal.

“I’m not bitching.  I’m just stressed okay, Darcy!” Jane yells.  “I’m going off to a different _realm_ to meet my boyfriend’s parents, and oh hey, guess what! They are the king and queen of the place and I’m just a lowly mortal.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty freaky,” agrees Darcy.

“Darcy!  You are supposed to be making me feel better.”

“Well, at least you’re not hung up on a psychopath about to be sentenced to eons in the slammer,” says Darcy. 

Ellie throws an unworthy pair of pants in Darcy’s face.

“Well, if the tastes of said psychopath are any indication, Asgardians seem to wear a lot of long, flowing dresses.  And green.  But that’s probably just Loki,” says Ellie.

“Okay.  I’ve got dresses.  I can wear dresses.  I think I may have one dress.  Why didn’t I pack sooner?  We leave tomorrow!  There’s no time to buy long, flowing dresses!”

Jane continues to freak out for the majority of the night.  Neither Darcy nor Ellie manages to do much to ease her fears, but the wine seems to help.  There isn’t much to say.  Their upcoming trip to Asgard will be fucking scary.

Ellie leaves later than she should.  Plied with alcohol, Jane is on the verge of sleep in her room at the compound, and Ellie makes the long walk to the cottage alone.  She pauses at the base of the stairs when she gets home, looking at the stars and thinking of Loki, worlds away, rotting in a dungeon with his lips sewed shut.  She tries to analyze her own feelings for the God of Lies, but fails miserably. 

She’s invested now and will see it through the best way she can.  Convincing Thor to bring her to the sham of a trial is a good start.

There is nothing she can do for him but see it through.  Maybe it’s more about her than him.  Maybe she needs that closure Darcy’s always going on about. 

She’ll go to the trial.  She’ll know his fate.  And she’ll move on.

* * *

 

It’s a very strange sensation, being sucked up by bright blue light only to solidify galaxies away.  Ellie can feel each and every cell in her body stretched upwards.  Every part of her body is ultra sensitized. 

Her instinct is to close her eyes against the blinding blue light, but she focuses on keeping them open, not wanting to miss a moment of this. Through the brilliant light, Ellie makes out stars and nebulas and the fleeting immensity of space.

Her feet solidify first and Ellie gapes down as her shoes lose their blue glow against the equally bright surface of what Thor calls the Rainbow Bridge. 

Really, it’s a shockingly gentle process despite the Jane’s painful grip on her hand.

“We’ve got to do that again,” says the grinning scientist.

Ellie cracks her neck, taking stock of her body before she can focus on her new, other worldly surroundings.  Her eyes go wide as her brain struggles to process the unbelievable sight before her.

During Thor’s visits in the lab, many days ended with Jane, Darcy, and Ellie listening with rapt attention to Thor’s description of his home.  He talked with such quiet reverence.  The thunder god’s words were so vivid Ellie felt as though she could picture it perfectly.

Nothing could prepare her for the sight of the towering golden city, flanked by idyllic mountains and the dark beauty of space beyond.  There is too much to see and Ellie’s eyes dart around frantically before they settle on the bridge that seems to buzz under her feet.

Thor gives the girls a few moments to silently take it all in.

“Fuck,” mutters Eleanor, still holding Jane’s hand.  Her boss lets out a semi hysterical giggle.  Jane’s gaze is rooted to the sky, but Ellie looks at the golden palace.  Somewhere far below those magnificent spires is Loki, trapped away all alone with only her CD’s for company.

“Come now my fair Midgardians,” Thor says, wrapping an arm more firmly around Jane’s shoulders.  “Our greeting party has arrived.”

Ellie stops gaping at Thor’s home long enough to gaze at the group of four rapidly approaching Asgardians, all dressed in armor and leather as splendid as Thor’s.

“Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” announces Thor.  “Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral, Sif, this is my Jane.”

“Hi,” squeaks Jane.

The Warriors Three and Sif return the greeting.  Ellie loses interest and goes back to staying at the city.

“And this is Lady Eleanor,” continues Thor.  She glances back at the imposing figures standing before her and she knows just from the looks on their faces that Thor has told them all about her dubious parentage and her impossibly stupid attachment to the traitor prince.

“What’s up?” says Eleanor.

All four warriors look up, blinking in confusion as they search the sky.  Jane chuckles as Thor explains that the words are a “strange Midgardian greeting.”

They take a moment to recover.

“I must say we did not expect Thor to return in the company of any let alone such stunning beauties,” says the dashing blond one.  Ellie didn’t catch his name or any of their names, with the exception of Lady Sif.  In her head she dubs him Warrior One.

She just watches him with a raised eyebrow as he reaches for her hand, kissing it.

“Does the Allfather know about this?” asks Sif.

“Come,” says Thor, wincing slightly.  With a sweeping arm, the prince of Asgard gestures grandly towards the golden city.  “Let us depart.”

The odd group sets off but Ellie lingers behind.  She takes off her shoes and a shiver runs up the length of her body as she feels the pulsing energy of the bridge below her feet.

* * *

 

Thor shows Ellie to her chambers and he is nervous.

“My apologies, Lady Eleanor,” he says, loitering at her doorway as she slowly moves around the room, taking in the opulent décor.  “I must meet with the Allfather alone before introducing Jane.  Your presence here was not expected and I must explain.”

“It’s cool,” she mutters.

“You are chilled?” asks Thor, confused.  “I can call for more blankets if you wish.”

Ellie turns her head to hide her smile.  “No, it means I will be fine here on my own.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Very good, Lady Eleanor,” he says.  “I know you wish to see him, but I am afraid you will have to wait until the trial tomorrow.  Please stay here.  There are… _whispers_ about you and I would hate for the people’s curiosity to turn into something that might harm you.”

And then he’s gone, leaving her alone in a bedroom so fancy is makes her nervous.  Her insides still feel a little shaky from her super speedy ride through space, so she lies down on the plush purple bed and tries to rest.

She gives up after less than ten minutes.

Instead she gets up to finish exploring her surroundings.  The furnishings are gold and purple.  The floor is a cool marble and the walls a lush mahogany paneling.  The ceiling is enchanted to look like stars in the sky.

An elaborate golden archway opens to a balcony and Eleanor wanders outside.  The city belong is beautiful, all elegant stone and winding waterways.  She can hear the faint roar of waves where the water falls over the edge into nothingness.  Again she looks at the sky with space beyond and she thinks of Loki.

It’s hard to believe he is so close.

The view seems to freeze her in place for a good hour but eventually her curiosity gets the best of her.  She eyes the curving marble steps at the end of the balcony and then peaks over the edge, studying the lush gardens below.

Thor was rather clear with his instructions to stay put, but this might be her only day on a different fucking _realm_ , and she refuses to waste it.  With a final deep breath to steady her nerves, Ellie sets off down the stairs and out into Asgard. 

Or at least the palace grounds.

The gardens are beautiful, and Ellie wanders for hours, but she doesn’t feel a connection here.  As irritating as it is to admit, Eleanor hoped to feel ties to this distant, unbelievable realm, but instead she feels nothing.  Parentage be damned because she _feels nothing_ beyond the standard shock of being on a different fucking realm.

Ellie has been disconnected her whole life, the dark prince of this stunning city being the one exception.

Fingertips trail over soft petals, each blossom more extraordinary in color and texture and shape than the last as she meanders down a cobblestone path, her feet bare.

The sounds of footsteps behind her have panic stirring in her chest.  Thor told her to stay put after all, but what’s the worst they could do?  Lock her back in the absurdly opulent room?  She is used to such things, even if Stark Tower stopped being her prison over nine months ago.

Ellie turns to meet the newcomer and is surprised to see a tall woman covered head to toe in a long brown cloak.  Only her face is visible, framed by a few golden curls escaping her hood.  She is tall and beautiful, just like every other Asgardian ever.

“Lady Eleanor Tate,” she says in that distinct accent.

Ellie nods absently as the woman stops to scrutinize her, even though there was no question in her voice.

The cloaked stranger drags her gaze down the length of Ellie’s body with alarming intensity.  Ellie pats her hair self-consciously and curses herself for leaving her sandals behind.  Her feet are filthy from her tromp through the gardens.  Although this woman is dressed far more plainly than Eleanor’s typical Asgardian company, her height and piercing stare are still intimidating.

There is something so very familiar in that stare.

But then the woman beams.  “You are absolutely beautiful,” she declares.  The precision of the cloaked woman’s speech reminds Ellie of Loki and it hurts her heart for a moment.  “Although a bit small.”

Ellie can do nothing but nod back with wide eyes.

“I am so very pleased to meet you, my lady,” says the woman, bowing slightly.

“Thanks.”  Ellie finally manages to find her voice.  “Um, who are you?”

“It matters not,” says the cloaked woman, waving an elegant hand dismissively.  “I am a simple servant with a question.”

Ellie glances around, totally baffled by the conversation.  She nods for the cloaked woman to continue. 

“Why are you here?” 

The suspicion apparent in the inquiry has Ellie going on the defensive. 

“I’m a guest of Thor,” Ellie explains, bristling and crossing her arms over her chest.  She has to look up to meet the gaze of the cloaked lady.

“You failed to answer,” replies the very pushy servant.

“I fail to see why I should,” Ellie says.  “It’s not your business.”

The cloaked woman gives a genuine smile.  “You have heart,” she says.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are here for the younger prince.”

Now Ellie is really surprised.  How could such gossip spread so quickly?  She’s been here for less than half a day and she’s gone nowhere near Loki.

“As I suspected,” says the woman, blue eyes bright and excited now.  “You wish to assist him.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow.  “Assist him how?” she asks.

“You wish to change his sentence, to change his fate.”

Ellie stares in open mouthed shock for a long moment during which time the woman just looks on hopefully. 

“There is nothing I can do,” Ellie murmurs, shoulders slumping in defeat.  “He deserves to be punished, but he isn’t well and solitude will absolutely ruin any chance he has of ever being okay again.”

“And you wish him to have a chance?”

Ellie nods, struggling not to cry.  Thor explicitly warned her about advertizing her views on Loki to the rest of the Aesir, but here she is, practically breaking down in front of a servant. 

She’s going to get herself beat up.  To the Asgardians, she is an abomination connected to a monster.

“In that case,” says the woman, drawing an ancient leather-bound book from the folds of her cloak with a flourishing gesture that once more reminds Ellie of Loki.  “I must deliver this to you.”

Raising a single, questioning eyebrow, Ellie accepts the book with extreme caution.  It is so old but still very heavy and solid.  Ellie touches the flaking gold writing across the front.  Frowning in confusion, she opens the book to a page marked with a green ribbon.

“You know I can’t read this, right?” Ellie asks as she stares at the tiny foreign lettering that crowds the yellow pages.

“Ingest this,” says the cloaked woman, offering a small, nearly transparent circle in the palm of her hand.

“Wha—“ When Ellie opens her mouth to protest, the cloaked woman shoves the circle into her mouth, holding a hand over Ellie’s lips and tilting her head back, leaving Ellie no choice but to swallow.

“What the fuck!” Ellie sputters when the cloaked woman lets go.  “What the hell did I just eat?”

It tastes like a mint.

“You can read now.  The gift is not permanent.”

Ellie glances down at the book, understanding every symbol on the page.  Blinking in confusion, she looks back up to ask the cloaked servant for a little clarification, but she is once more alone in the garden. 

Ellie turns in three full circles before she looks back at the bookmarked page and the heading written in bold.

“Atonement,” she murmurs.

* * *

 

“Thor is not going to like this,” Jane mutters, frowning down at the map drawn by the God of Thunder himself. 

The girls spent the evening together, dinning in Jane’s room.  Thor apologized for the lacking hospitality, but he needed to spend time with his parents and the council, preparing for tomorrow. 

Jane briefly met the King and Queen, but apparently all further socialization will just have to wait until after Loki’s trial. 

“Of course he’ll be mad,” Ellie replies as they walk down the deserted hall.  “He drew you this map so you could sneak into his room to do him and I’m tagging along.  He’ll totally be mad.”

Jane stops walking abruptly.  Torches that barely light the space throw strange shadows on Jane’s beautiful face.  “Maybe I should take you back,” Jane murmurs.

Ellie combats that bit of stupidity by snagging the map and continuing down the hall.  Jane has little choice but to follow.

They only get lost twice, pretty good considering Thor really can’t draw for shit.

When they reach Thor’s door, Jane gives Ellie a wary look before sighing and knocking on the set of golden double doors.

“My Jane,” Thor says in what is supposed to be a whisper as he opens the door.  “You’ve found my rooms.”

Ignoring the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a crimson loincloth, Ellie pushes past the startled God of Thunder to enter the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” he sputters as Jane follows, shutting the door behind her.  “Surely you do not mean for me to engage in the trinity with my brother’s woman.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Trinity!” barks Jane.  “Is that like a threesome?  What is _wrong_ with you?”

Before an argument can really get going, Ellie drops the heavy book on Thor’s desk.  The resulting bang makes Jane jump and Thor scowl.

“I need to talk to you about Loki,” Ellie says, opening to the proper page. 

As Thor reads, Ellie uses the green ribbon serving as a bookmark to tie up her hair in a messy bun. 

“How did you come to be in possession of this, Lady Eleanor?” he asks, barely containing his anger.  His jaw ticks.  Loki’s does that too.  “How do you even know what it says?”

“So I was in the gardens,” she admits, ignoring Thor’s groan.  “And this woman started asking me about your brother and then she gave me this book and shoved this weird minty thing in my mouth so I could read it.”

“This gift of tongues,” Thor murmurs, thinking hard apparently.  “She could have very well slain you or held you for ransom, demanding Loki’s life to spare yours.  I told you how they hate him.”

“Your gardens are that dangerous?” she asks.

“Of course not,” snaps the crowed prince.  “Who was this woman?  How did she come to be in the palace undetected?”

Ellie shrugs.  “She didn’t give me a name,” she continues.  “She said that she was a servant.  She sounded like she was acting on someone’s orders.”

Thor strokes his chin and starts pacing.  Loki does that too.

“My brother has an ally,” he muses.  “It seems impossible.”

 _“_ Does it really matter who gave it to me?  Check this shit out.”  She clears her throat and starts to read _.  “Under just circumstance when the offending criminal is judged redeemable and traditional forms of punishment indeed threaten this possibility for redemption, a_ _bót mannaforráð may hereby be endued with the most sacred of responsibilities and the according powers to ensure the criminal’s full and complete redemption.”_

Thor stops his pacing to stare look at her with pity.  “Lady—“

Ellie keeps reading, driven by hope.  “ _The_ _bót mannaforráð must be pure of heart,”_ she continues.  “The cloaked lady said that I have heart!”

“Ellie—“

This time Ellie keeps reading over Jane, refusing to hear them and their stupid reason.  She keeps hope alive.

_“The_ _bót mannaforráð must be willing and able to devote his life to atonement, yet he must also have been greatly wronged by the criminal in the past to ensure the adequate punishment is sought.  He must seek redemption over revenge, justice over vengeance.  The_ _bót mannaforráð will have the power to prevent further criminal action._ _Bót mannaforráð and the criminal will never be parted until the King of Asgard declares the criminal redeemed and sufficiently punished.”_

Ellie looks up at the end of the passage.  Instead of hope, she is met with more pity and discomfort.

“You know not what you ask, Lady Eleanor,” Thor murmurs, looking pained.  “You know not what this means.”

“Does that even matter?” she asks, struggling not to cry.  “This way he’ll have a chance but if he ends up alone for a billion years, that’s it.  He’s done.  Your brother will be truly lost to you.  He’ll be gone.”

“He is gone already.”

Ellie smacks Thor in the arm.  He doesn’t seem to feel it, but is shocked by her move nonetheless.

“You don’t believe that, you ass,” Ellie scolds.  “If you really thought he was gone, you’d let SHIELD have their way with him.  You wouldn’t have convinced me to go visit him in his cell at Stark everyday and I wouldn’t be here now.”

Thor sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.  When he opens them again, he’s lost that look of heartbreak. 

“This is old magic,” he says, once more looking at the book.  “It is not done.  Few in our history volunteer to take on such responsibility for those who have wronged them.”

“I volunteer,” Ellie mutters, losing that hope.  It’s so much worse than having no hope to begin with.  She wants to crawl into bed and never move again.

“I promise to remind my father of this possibility,” Thor says, resting his hands on Ellie’s shoulders.  “But it will likely change nothing.”

Ellie nods, taking both the book and her leave.

* * *

 

“This is insane.  You know that right?”  Jane says on the morning of Loki’s farce of a trial.  “Like bat-shit crazy.”

They are “breaking their fast” on Jane’s balcony.   Well, Jane is breaking her fast on Jane’s balcony while Eleanor watches.  The spread of fruit, cheese, and baked goods is impressive but Ellie can’t eat. 

She sticks to the wine, delighted that on Asgard there is no silly five o’clock rule. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ellie says, shrugging.  “There is zero chance of Odin going for my plan anyway.”

“But you want him to.  You want Odin to agree.”  Jane pops a grape in her mouth, chewing out her frustration and concern.  “That’s troubling, Eleanor.  That you would do something so huge like that… I don’t get it.”

Eleanor drinks more wine and considers ignoring these hard questions.  Silence is not a problem as far as she’s concerned, even if things get awkward.

“You are my friend, Ellie,” Jane murmurs.  “That’s a pretty big deal for me.  It’s the dead parent thing.  It means that my friends are my family, and I don’t have that many friends. So I care what happens to you. I’m not trying to judge you in this but I am really worried.  Please, just help me understand.”

Well, there’s no way Eleanor can maintain her silence after such a moving speech.  She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, wondering how the hell she’ll manage to get through this day.

“I was alone for a long time,” Ellie attempts to explain.  She can’t look at Jane so she focuses on the view.  It is too pretty to be real, more like a painting or a dream than a tangible place.  “My exile was self imposed, but I didn’t realize how fucking horribly lonely I was until Loki.  For the better part of a decade there was no one but then there was Loki and I wasn’t alone anymore.”

“He kidnapped you.”

“Yeah.”  Ellie nods and scowls into her wine.  “That fucking dick kidnapped me.  And I’m not excusing him.  He kidnapped me and that was bad, but my life before was worse.  It really put things in perspective and now I’m getting my shit together.”

“That’s your doing,” Jane says, still not getting it.  “Not his.”

“I know.  But he’s still the first person I let in after eight years on my own so I can’t _not_ try.  I can’t just… abandon him.”

Jane sighs heavily and eats some more grapes.  Eleanor offers no more explanations because she has none.

“Just say you won’t do anything reckless,” says Jane.

“I won’t do anything reckless.”

* * *

 

Eleanor does something reckless.

* * *

 

The God of all Gods poses an intimidating figure, especially up close, but Eleanor does not cower under his one-eyed glare.  She is not scared and she stands tall, looking him right in the eye.

 _I object._  

What a ridiculous thing to say.  It felt as though she was in some horrible rom-com and the man of her dreams was about to marry the wrong girl.  But she was sitting there staring at Loki, so skinny and defeated, listening to Odin give him a hundred _fucking_ years of solitary, and she just couldn’t stand it.  She was on her feet, voicing her objection, with all those eyes on her.

_I object._

Stupid, true words that proved extremely effective because she is here with the Allfather.  Without finishing the trial they dragged her in here to prevent her from causing a further scene.

At least she’ll have her say.

Odin waits and glares as Thor paces the length of the large room off to the side of the immense throne hall where she interrupted Loki’s farce of a trial less than ten minutes ago.  There is a long golden table dominating the center, along with a collection of maps, reminding Ellie of a war room.

The Allfather seems to be waiting for her to speak first.  Ellie smirks slightly because there is no way that will be happening.  She is a pro at not talking. 

After a few more tense minutes of silence, Thor finally breaks.

“Father, I—“

“Who are you to object to the goings on of this realm?” Odin demands, ignoring his son to bear down on Ellie.  Something about his quiet, deadly voice is much more alarming than Thor’s angry boom.

It reminds her of Loki and a shiver of trepidation goes up her spine.

“Who are you to object to the ruling of the council?” he continues.  “Who are you to question my word?”

Again, he sounds like his maniac adoptive son and Ellie’s eyes narrow, her trepidation replaced by anger.  Still, the Allfather could very well sentence Ellie to a century of solitude right along with his troubled son, so she takes her time and keeps the hatred out of her tone.

“I’m Eleanor,” she murmurs with a respectful bow of the head.  “Nice to meet you, your grace.  I mean no disrespect and I really, truly want what’s best for your son.”

For a moment Odin’s face falls.  Her words were unexpectedly polite after she leapt to her feet and objected to Loki’s punishment in front of all of Asgard’s elite, but then the death glare is back.

“What could you possibly have been thinking, Thor,” he says, his voice rising in volume.  “Bringing a love sick outsider to such an event?  It makes me question your judgment. Perhaps you are not as ready to rule as I previously thought.”

Thor abruptly stops pacing and pales as he gapes at the Allfather.  Ellie barely manages to stifle her snort of disgust.

No wonder Loki has such daddy issues.  This guy is a dick. 

Although it would be nice to see Thor stand up for himself, Ellie steps in once again. 

“I do have some right to be here, you know,” she replies quietly, dropping her gaze to the gilded floor.  She hates even thinking about her parentage, but this is the argument that ultimately convinced Thor to bring her to Asgard in the first place.

“Ah, yes,” Odin say, nodding.  “You are the progeny of the insatiable _Bragi_.”

The name makes Ellie wince

“I’ve received an account of you whole life, Eleanor Tate,” continues the Allfather.  “Trust me when I say you know nothing of my people.  There is nothing of my people in you.”

Ellie fears she might be sick.  Although she can’t even imagine how, she believes his words to be truth.  He knows every sordid detail of her misspent youth and every low moment of her lonely adulthood. 

Ellie wonders if he ever made his adoptive son feel this way – so unworthy and ashamed.  Each moment she spends with Odin brings her a faction more understanding of Loki.

But then she remembers what Loki told her of her father, of the protection he wrought, of the gatekeeper who can’t see her.

“You know all that?” she murmurs, raising an eyebrow.  “Really?”

The intensity of Odin’s scowl makes Ellie think her attitude was a mistake.  She takes a deep, calming breath.

“I know about this,” Ellie says, hugging the ancient volume a little closer to her chest. “I know there is another way.  You send him off to spend a century alone and he’s lost forever.  This will give him a chance.”

Once more Odin’s harsh facade crumbles slightly.  “He is already lost,” he murmurs, sounding heartbroken, sounding like Thor. 

Ellie’s eyes tear at this ridiculously familiar conversation.

“Oh come on,” she whispers, meeting the one eyed gaze once more.  “You’re the Allfather, right?  I know you are a much better dad than that.”

Odin’s eye goes wide and the only sound in the room is Thor’s sharp intake of breath and the dull roar from the crowded hall just outside the door.  Hundreds wait for a verdict being decided here in the war room.

“Just give him a chance,” she whispers, pleading now.  For one glorious moment Ellie thinks he’s finally coming to see her point, but then this king’s expression hardens once more.  Ellie tries hard not to sob in desperation and frustration.

“Even if Loki could benefit from a bót mannaforráð arrangement, I see no suitable candidates for that role,” Odin declares.

Ellie winces as if he’s slapped her.  Once more, Loki’s adoptive father makes her feel utterly worthless.  She stutters, searching for the words to defend herself, but she’s once more lost the ability to speak.

“Father, that is unfair,” says the thunder god, finding his courage as he comes to stand at Ellie’s side.  “She is no warrior, but shows great bravery in spite of this. During the battle of New York City she provided a distraction to Loki, allowing the one known as Hulk to render my brother incapacitated for the remainder of the war.”

Ellie scowls slightly at Thor.  How does he know this detail?  The memory of the giant green rage monster still haunts her dreams.  She hates the way Thor tells this tale, as if her distraction was in any way intentional.

Loki could have very well screamed at the Hulk even if she stayed in his basement prison.  It certainly felt like he did it to keep the monsters attention away from Eleanor, but who can really say? 

From the look on his face, it is obvious that the Allfather remains unimpressed.

“I will not reward Loki’s behavior by handing him over to his preferred concubine,” says Odin simply as if to close the matter.

“Father!” Thos says, clearly shocked and embarrassed.  Ellie glares at the one-eyed god.

“Do you know your son at all?” she snaps, finally losing patience.  “I may miraculously help with his mental clarity, but he is going to loathe being stuck with me, the control freak that he is.  The whole point is that someone will have power over him.  That’s part of this magic, right?  That I’d have the power to ensure he wouldn’t fuck up again.  Even if I wield it fairly, he’ll hate it.  He’ll hate me for the control I’d have over him. And given what he did with that scepter of his, I can’t think of a more fitting punishment.”

As usual, everyone is surprised to hear her speak so much.

“Ah,” says Odin, as if he’s uncovered some secret that should’ve been obvious all along.  “That is it then.  You desire power.”

The Allfather is so far off the mark, Ellie doesn’t even know where to begin.

A new voice joins the argument, saving Ellie from giving an incomprehensible reply. 

“She has heart.”

All eyes are drawn to the door.  The newcomer leans against it, eyes narrowed at the Allfather.  Ellie’s mouth falls open in shock when she recognizes the woman from the garden, the cloaked lady. 

Now the regal figure at the door is without cloak and if her pale, jeweled dress and matching tiara are any indication, she is no servant. 

In the throne room Ellie briefly glanced at Frigga, Queen of Asgard, where she sat next to the King, but she didn’t recognize the woman from afar.  Now that only a few feet separate them, Ellie feels like an idiot for not spotting it earlier.  She finds the right words, but Frigga glances at her, silently instructing her to keep her mouth shut.

Of course the cloaked woman was Loki’s mother.  Thor told her all about their mother.  Who else could it possibly have been?

What a sneaky bitch.  Loki is so ridiculously like every member of his fake family.

“She has a _good_ heart,” Frigga continues, making Odin sigh heavily. 

“She knows not what she seeks,” says the King.

“She knows better than you.”

Ellie tries really hard not to smirk at this. 

“It is not done, my love,” Odin says with another sigh.  Suddenly the cruel, hard king is replaced with a tired old man.  “The council nor the people will understand.  They call for a century banished to the Isle of Solitude.”

For whatever reason, the name is exceedingly funny to Ellie with its drama, and she bites the side of her cheek to keep from giggling. 

Frigga scoffs.

“The people fail to think and feel betrayed while the council seeks to unnecessarily punish our son for hundreds of meaningless slights that came before Loki’s true crimes.  In your desire to remain unbiased towards your son you’ve become unfair and cruel.  You over compensate, Allfather, even as you strive to be king only in this matter, rather than parent.”

Ellie decides she loves Loki’s adoptive mother, despite her sneakiness, as Odin hangs his head in shame.

“It is not done,” he says again. 

“It is not done recently,” the queen corrects.  “Look at the book she holds, my husband.  There is your precedent.  And our Eleanor Tate fills the requirements and has the desire to take on this responsibility.”

In the presence of these three royal gods who now study her intently, Ellie suddenly feels very small.  She doesn’t typically do responsibility.  Before Loki, she was only willing to commit to singing and nothing more.

Even with all the changes in the last nine months, Ellie won’t even commit to a good week to let Laura and her family to visit. 

And _fuck_ , is this a fucking commitment.

This terrifies her.  This will change her whole life.  She could very easily fail, and then what would become of the God of Mischief?

There is no alternative so Ellie nods.  She nods too much.  In her attempt to be confident, Ellie nods too much. 

“I want to give him a chance,” she murmurs.  Commitment or no, there is no other choice for him to have a chance.

Odin stares at her for a long, tense moment.  She forces herself to meet his gaze.

“Very well,” he declares.  “We will deal with the council and the people appropriately, in due time.   But first we shall arrange this.”

Ellie’s knees threaten to give out but somehow she stays on her feet.  Wining this argument has put her in a state of shock.  Really, she never expected to win. 

Odin speaks as Thor slips out of the room, but Ellie has a hard time really hearing. 

“You will be given the power to totally control his movement, although his mind will remain unchanged.  His mind is beyond your influence, but his body will be under your charge, if you deem it so,” The King of Asgard explains as he stands in front of Ellie, eye boring into her.  It is deeply unsettling.

She manages a nod in response although she really can’t get her head around those words.

“He will be unable to go against your commands.  It will be your duty to prevent him from committing further crimes against both Asgard and Midgard, using your new power over him if need be.”

Again, she nods dumbly.

“To ensure this, it will be physically impossible for Loki to be away from you.  He will be perpetually in your company.”

Her eyes widen slightly and Odin pauses, waiting and wanting her to change her mind.  Instead she nods.

“You will be solely responsibly for his rehabilitation.  This magical bond between you will last until I’ve decided he has properly atoned and been punished for his crimes.  Until this occurs, you will be as chained to him as he is to you.”

More nodding from Ellie.

“It may very well take years.  I fully anticipate your failure to both prevent him from committing further crimes and for carrying out appropriate punishment.  If further crimes are committed, the bond will be severed and Loki’s original punishment will commence.  Do you understand these terms, Eleanor Bragadóttir?”

She winces at the name, but nods all the same.

“This magic requires a verbal confirmation,” snaps Odin, continuing to pace.

“Yes,” she says.  “I accept.”

 

 


	20. bót mannaforráð

Odin is chanting, low and rhythmic. The gift of tongues must have worn off because she doesn’t understand a word.  But then Thor and a posse of guards escort Loki into the room and Ellie stops trying to understand.

He looks at her and she stares back, feeling as though her insides are bubbling.  It’s a thrill to see him one more, but also it hurts.  The gauntness of his face is new and the angles would make him beautiful if it wasn’t indicative of his total lack of health.  He needs food and a bath.  He needs to be somewhere his mind can heal.

The eyes are the same, as intense and compelling as ever, and he looks only at her.

Thor leads him forward and they stand facing each other as Odin crafts his magic.  A purple haze engulfs them and this must be a dream.  It seems to move in Loki.  She can see the magic flow through his veins.

And then it is in her too.

Loki struggles against his chains when her legs give out, moving as if he’s trying to catch her, but it is Thor who actually stops Ellie’s fall.  At no point does she truly loose consciousness but as Odin’s magic rushes through her system she momentarily can’t seem to control her muscles.

The tingling isn’t exactly unpleasant, and Ellie just leans back against Thor’s massive frame, watching Loki. It is difficult to see beyond the swirling purple mist and flashing light, but Loki’s eyes are crystal clear. He shakes slightly and she can’t even imagine what he’s thinking but he looks so scared.

The tingling subsides and her vision clears, but she still is different.  Altered somehow.  It’s as if she can feel the tremors still running through Loki’s body in her own hands.  She is keenly aware of his presence.

Ellie pushes away from Thor, looking at the Allfather with a raised eyebrow.

“It is done,” he confirms.

Ellie nods but everyone just continues to stand around, not having any idea what to do next.

“Are the stitches really necessary?” she asks, her voice so very small.  Ellie absently wonders where all the strength that had her standing and objecting during the trial has gone.

“That is now entirely up to your discretion,” murmurs Odin.

“Oh,” Ellie says, feeling a little faint.  “Okay.  Um.  Take out his stitches, please.”

Odin flicks his hand and the string keeping his lips closed dissolves, leaving nothing but a series of puncture wounds spanning the circumference of his mouth.  Loki opens his mouth as wide as it will go, rubbing his jaw.  His tongue darts out to lick each wound, making Ellie wince.

She crosses the short distance between them.  “They won’t heal if you keep that up,” she scolds.

Loki closes his eyes, his breathing getting erratic.  Once again he opens his mouth, his lips attempting to form words.

“Water,” Ellie says, throwing a glare over her shoulder at the Allfather. 

A servant delivers a goblet.  Ellie tries to put it in Loki’s hands, but they are shaking too badly and still manacled in chains.  She lifts the glass to his lips and lets him drink a few sips.  He turns his face away when he’s done and Ellie lowers the goblet.

“And the chains,” Ellie says.  “Get rid of the chains.”

Thor and Odin share a look.  The guards in the room visibly tense, clutching their weapons a little tighter.

“The chains,” Ellie insists.

Odin flicks a hand once more and the chains are gone.  Loki rubs his wrists and licks his wounds again.

“No licking,” she scolds.

“Eleanor,” he croaks, reaching out for her.  All the men in the room take a step forward as if they are trying to get in between the pair, but Ellie ignores them, taking his hand.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she murmurs.

“You are by far the most pleasant of my delusions.  I would rather it not end,” says Loki.  Ellie gives him a sad smile.  Odin and Thor look on with a combination of sadness and confusion, but Frigga is unsurprised.

“I’m real,” she assures him.

“Those are just the words the real you would speak.”

“I have no idea what your point is.”

“That this is indeed just another delusion.”

Ellie tries not to cry just as she tries not to scowl too much at the idiotic pair of gods that thought it was a good idea to lock away their psychotic son/brother with his lips stitched up for three and a half months.

“Is there somewhere I can take him to get cleaned up?” she asks.

“Yes!  Yes, of course,” Thor says, bumbling towards the door as if he is ashamed that he didn’t think of it himself.  “Follow me if you please.”

Ellie wraps an arm around Loki’s waist.  He drapes an arm around her shoulder, absently playing with the ends of her hair.  His gaze is dreamy and Ellie finds it highly concerning.

She worries she won’t be able to convince him that this actually happening.  She’s still working on convincing herself that this is actually happening.

Frigga leads the way, steering clear of the crowded throne room.  Eleanor is thankful that she will not have to deal with that cluster fuck.

The five of them move through the gilded halls of the palace with a gaggle of guards flanking them.  Ellie focuses on Loki, trying to adjust.  She can feel his every movement in her veins and the whole thing is weird as fuck.

“Um, what the deal with this feeling him thing?” she asks Odin.

“Physical proof of the bond.  It will fade.”

Ellie glances up at Loki but he just continues to watch her with a slight smile, as if he is enjoying himself greatly.  Despite his disoriented state, Loki touches her as if he’s trying to memorize all her nooks and crannies.

Although Ellie thought she was beginning to get used to the opulence of Asgard, Loki’s rooms make her eyes go wide with shock.  It is all green and gold, with impossibly high ceilings and elegant furnishings.  The space is vast, a series of rooms connected by open arches.  The front is a seating area.  To the right a study with two towering walls devoted to bookshelves, and to the left is his bedroom.

“This is a new addition,” Loki muses, taking in his surroundings.

Ellie’s eyes settle on the huge circular green bed.  She helps Loki sit on the end and takes stock of the dark god.

“It’s not new.”  She talks to him like he is a person.  She talks to him like she would if he wasn’t currently wacked out.  Ellie hated the way people talked to her when she was psychotic, like she was an infant or something subhuman, totally incapable of understanding the world around her.  “This is your room.  Not new at all.”

“A new delusion, _Eleanor_.” The exasperation in his tone is familiar.

“Not a delusion, _Loki_.”

She frowns at his disgustingly greasy hair, tied back in a messy knot at the base of his head.  It looks as though someone haphazardly wiped the grime from his face and neck, but they failed to do a thorough job.  There are streaks of blood and dirt on the pale column of his throat.

He absolutely reeks and she worries about the puncture wounds surrounding his mouth.

Loki’s hands skim around from her hips to her ass, attempting to pull her into his lap as she pushes the dark hair off his forehead.

“This garment is a dress,” he observes, his voice still harsh.  Nimble fingers twist up the fabric at her lower back.  “Further evidence that this is merely a delusion.  Only in my head would you willing clothe yourself in such attire.”

“It’s not a delusion,” she corrects.  “And I happen to like this dress.”

“That is just what you would say in reality, therefore this is indeed unreal.”

“Loki,” she says with a sigh.  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

He just smiles pleasantly.  The expression on his face is far more terrifying to her than his deadly glares.  It makes her cry and she lets Loki pull her into his lap.  He rocks her as her body shakes and she tries to ignore the stench. 

He is comforting her.  How fucking absurd is that?

“What is the reason for these tears, Eleanor?” he murmurs in her ear.  “Hush, hush.”

He just holds her for a few moments and she holds him back.

“How damaged the inner workings of my mind must be to conjure you in such a state,” he says thoughtfully when the tremors finally leave her body.  “Have we been in a similar position before?  Is this a true memory?”

“Yeah, I cried all over you once.  That was real.  And so is this.”

“Oh, Eleanor.”  He shakes his head, still not believing her.

With a heavy sigh she stands up.  Loki whines as she moves out of his reach.  The sound of a throat clearing has Ellie’s head jerking around.  She blushes when she takes in the three gods standing in the archway.  She momentarily forgot about the presence of the royal family.

Ellie nods at Frigga, understanding that this whole thing was really orchestrated by the woman who raised the dark god.  Despite her confusion regarding the whole situation, Ellie is thankful that at least one member of his so called family has his best interests in mind.

Although maybe not Eleanor’s.  That stunt with the book was a fine bit of manipulation.  Adopted or no, it is impossible to ignore all the family resemblance between Loki and the people who raised him.

“Sorry,” Eleanor murmurs, smiling ruefully as she gestures to her tear soaked face.  Frigga opens her mouth to respond, but Loki interrupts.

“Ignore that section of this delusion, please,” he says, rising from his spot on the bed.  He totters on shaky legs over to Ellie, wrapping his arms around her waist.  “Do you think I could possibly conjure a bath?”

“This is real, Loki!” she snaps, just about at the end of her rope.

The God of Lies rolls his eyes.

“She speaks truth, my son,” murmurs Frigga.  Eleanor winces, recognizing the overly gentle tone.  Apparently the sane address the crazy that same way, no matter the realm.  “This is happening.  Truly, she is here.”

Loki’s facial expression hardens and his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t even glance in his mother’s direction, he just tugs on Ellie’s elbow, hauling her through a set of doors.  She shoots his family an apologetic smile before disappearing with him into a bathroom.

The strain from his sudden departure leaves him breathless and weak.  He leans back against the shut door, his chest heaving.   Even in what he thinks to be a delusion Loki is unwilling to let his family see his weakness, only Eleanor gets that privilege.

“Well, while we are in here we might as well get you that bath,” she mutters, still a little bit dazed.  “You reek.”

“What sort of delusion has a sense of smell?” he mutters through his wheezing.

“A delusion that is not actually a delusion,” says Ellie, sighing heavily.  Giving him another moment for his breathing to settle, she plays with the many knobs on the tub, filling it with hot water and scented oil.

Although her back is turned, Ellie can feel him slowly lift his head to watch her. 

“Get in the bath,” she says, nodding in the direction of the hot water.  He peels off his clothes, letting each layer fall to the floor as he slowly approaches the tub.  She averts her eyes as he steps into the water, smiling when she hears him wince at the heat.

He stretches out his legs, leaning back against the end of the tub and looks up at Eleanor expectantly.  She hitches her floor length dress up and kneels by the side of the bath, leaning with her chin on the edge.

“This is thoroughly pleasing,” he says, frowning at her in apparent confusion.  “It feels thoroughly pleasing.  Thus far the delusions have only been painful, fear and the smell of my own burning flesh and the haunting sound of nothing.  Just silence.  Alone in the silence.  Until you arrive, but you never stay long and when you leave it is always much worse.  Sometimes you merely disappear, but on most occasions you perish in the most gruesome way imaginable.”

Ellie tries really hard not to cry.  Really, she does, but he says the words so simply, as if immense pain is not only normal in his life but something he deserves the tears come anyway.

“I’m here, Loki.  And I’m not leaving.”  She can’t leave.  From now on, being away from one another will be a physical impossibility.

Oh, fuck.  What did she sign up for?

“I can already anticipate the pain that will follow your departure.  This will be much worse, for this is by far the most pleasant of delusions.”

Eleanor sniffs.

“Although seeing you cry does do something discomforting deep within my chest, so I suppose the pain is consistent,” muses Loki.

“I’m real, you idiot.”

Loki just gives her another dreamy smile.  Ellie resists the urge to slap him.

He slips under the surface of the water, submerging his entire body, but he comes up a moment later, hissing in pain.  He covers his mouth, rubbing at the wounds.  Ellie removes his hand from his face.

“Leave them alone,” she insists.  His tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth.  “No licking either.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you utter,” he says wistfully.  

 “Shampoo,” she instructs, smiling slightly.

“If I had any control over this delusion, you’d be doing that,” he mutters, turning one of the nozzles and haphazardly pushing the foam against his scalp.

“Which would convince you that this is actually happening?” Ellie asks.  “If I did or if I didn’t do it?”

“Frankly, I’m not even totally sure what you just said.”

“I’ll do it,” she mutters, shuffling on her knees to the back of the tub to take over.  He actually groans as she works her fingers through his dark, far too long locks.  She smiles, even as he sloshes soapy, bubbly water over the front of her dress.

“Rinse,” she instructs.  Loki is able to dip his head back without getting his lip wounds wet.  “Conditioner?”

Loki just looks confused.

“It helps get all the tangles out,” she explains.  “It will make your hair all nice and soft.”

He rolls his eyes again but points to the correct nozzle.  She has to lean over him to get the conditioner and he presses his lips to her chest as he ogles her tits.  It is extremely difficult, but she manages to ignore him as she goes back to his hair.

“This is real,” Ellie murmurs.

Loki just scoffs.

“It is!” she insists.

“You are highly irritating,” he says with a sigh.  He closes his eyes and leans back into her touch.  “And this has to be a delusion because the alternative is to horrible to comprehend.”

“Horrible?” she asks, hands faltering.

“I can think of nothing worse than another being, a lesser being, having complete control over my physicality,” he mutters. 

Although she said as much to the Allfather, Ellie winces suddenly so guilty.  He’ll hate this, once he figures out that it’s real.  She has total control over his movements and he will be forced to stay at her side until his father thinks he’s adequately been punished.

She knows Loki, has seen his control freak, domineering ways up close and personal, and everything about her arrangement with Odin goes against Loki’s very basest of needs. 

But it’s better than a century alone.  How can it not be?

“Fuck, you’re going to hate me when you finally snap out if it,” she murmurs. 

“Language, Eleanor,” he says.

“Rinse,” she replies.

* * *

 

Ellie is a little nervous to leave Loki alone in his weakened state, but he assures her he won’t attempt to get out of the tub without her.  She slips out of the bathroom, intent on rustling up some clean clothes, and nearly bumps into Frigga who stands right outside the door with a bundle in her arms.

“Here,” says the stunning goddess.  She gently pushes the green and black clothes into Ellie chest.  “Those rags will not do.”

Ellie nods dumbly.

“You are shocked to meet the real me, I presume?” asks Frigga.

Ellie shrugs.

“Circumstance here prevents me from doing all I wish for my son,” she murmurs. She is so visibly heartbroken, Ellie feels herself warming to Loki’s adoptive mother.  “I should really apologize to you for being so manipulative, but I am afraid I can not.  I have heard him call for you when his mind drags him to a different, painful reality.  Asgard is not the place for him.  He needs you.”

Ellie just nods once more as she gapes at the goddess, feeling totally overwhelmed by the current situation.  Although she sympathizes deeply with Loki, she has absolutely no idea how to help him, how to heal his mind and even more daunting, his cold, hardened heart.

It is far too much responsibility and she refuses to think about it.  She can freak out later.

“Go to my son,” Frigga continues, taking a step towards Thor and Odin who still lurk by the door.  “We have much to discuss.”

Ellie disappears into the bathroom once more, feeling both reassured and completely out of her depth. 

She watches Loki for a moment with his eyes closed head leaning back against the edge of the gleaming, golden tub, the rest of his body submerged.  There is a furrow between his brows and even with his eyes closed it is very obvious that he is struggling for clarity.

“Loki,” Eleanor murmurs.  At the sound of his name his eyes fly open.  They are so green and bright.  It is a relief to see them clear of the toxic blues from the Tesseract.

“Eleanor?”

“Yes, I’m here.”  She holds her breath for a moment, hoping that he’ll finally believe her but also dreading it.

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits up in the water.

“I have determined the true source of pain with this delusion,” he says, studying his fingernails with forced apathy.  He always does this when he cares more than he wants to.  Ellie does not believe the act.  She stays by the door, watching him intently.  “When it reaches an end, when you are no longer with me and I find my body either in the dungeons of Asgard or back in the Void, that is when this will really hurt.  More so than the other times, because in this delusion I am some how able to converse with you.  My mouth is free to respond.”

And she’s crying again.

“You are with me, Loki,” she murmurs.  “I’ll keep you safe.”

He throws his head back and gives a cruel laugh.  Ellie isn’t offended, not really, because she finds the statement so ridiculous herself.

“Can you stand?” she asks when the laughter dies.  “The water is cooling.”

It’s a struggle, but between the two of them they manage to get Loki out of the tub and wrapped in a towel.  The effort proves almost too much for him, and Loki has to lean against the counter for a full five minutes until he nods to Ellie, allowing her to help clothe him in the soft black leather pants and green shirt. 

The moment he finally realizes that this is no delusion, he’ll truly hate her for all the weakness he’s showed her, but for now he passively lets her lead him out into his room once more.  His family has relocated, all loitering by the billowing green curtains hanging over yet another arch that leads to a balcony.

Loki doesn’t even acknowledge them as he collapses onto his bed, trying to pull Ellie down with him.  She bats his hands away, watching as the trio of intimidating gods approach.

“You look well, brother,” Thor says, talking so loudly it makes Ellie wince.   Loki doesn’t even glance at his adoptive brother, although his jaw ticks. 

“He doesn’t think this is really happening,” Ellie explains.

Loki’s fake family spends a good fifteen minutes trying to convince Loki that this is reality before Ellie intervenes.  Loki didn’t look at anyone but Ellie.

“What happens next?” asks Ellie, turning to Odin.   Loki seizes on her distraction and grabs her wrist.  She loses her balance and sits on the bed, bouncing once.  Loki wraps his arms around her waist, laying his head in her lap and his family looks uncomfortable, but Ellie just threads her fingers through Loki’s hair and keeps staring at Odin.

But she relieved.  He is next to her and it makes breathing easier.  Some knot in her stomach that she learned to live with months ago loosens.

“You can not stay on Asgard,” The Allfather says.  “The people remain furious with my son and they are fearful of you.”

“Me?” Ellie clarifies, raising a single eyebrow.

“Hulda,” Thor says.  It takes Eleanor a minute to place the name of the Asgardian who visited the lab a couple weeks last fall.  “She is the source and has been punished accordingly.”

“Whispers of your parentage are spoken both in the court and among the general populace.  The situation is somewhat unprecedented.  Never before have the Aesir bred with lower beings. Your relationship with my son does not endear the people to you,” Odin explains.  “I fear Asgard is no place for Loki’s recovery.”

“Okay, fine,” Ellie says with a shrug.  She stays focused on the Allfather even as Loki sits up next to her and wraps his body around her own, his head finding that place against her neck he seems so fond of.  “I never really planned on staying here anyway.  He’ll come with me to New Mexico.”

She was so focused on getting Loki out of a century of solitude that she didn’t think of the future.  Her friends are really not going to like this.  It is yet another thing she failed to consider when jumping into this truly insane situation.

Loki continues to run his hands over her body.  Although it stirs a deep longing in Eleanor, his touch is not sexual.  Once again it is more as if he’s attempting to soak up as much of her as possible before she’s gone and the delusion turns unbearably painful. 

“Hey, do you have an opinion on this whole New Mexico business?” she asks.

“It matters not.”

His fingers tickle that spot on her ribs and she giggles.

Thor averts his eyes while Frigga looks on with a soft smile. Odin is imitating a statue, as per the usual.

“Yes, this is for the best,” says Odin.  “I recommend you leave at once.  Give the people of Asgard time to calm and adjust to the idea of a half mortal serving as bót mannaforráð to a prince who committed such grievous crimes.”

Loki tenses against her, and at first Ellie thinks it is because of something Odin said, but when she glances down she sees him staring intently at her shoulder.

“What?” she asks him, a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 

He doesn’t respond, instead reaching up to walk his fingertips along her tan line working it’s way down her collarbone.  May in New Mexico is lovely and Ellie finds herself outdoors more often than not. She tends her garden or runs with Jane.  Sometimes she sits outside with a guitar in her lap.  She’s always tanned well and now Loki studies the lines left by various tank tops, sports bras, and dresses.

Ellie lets him be and turns her attention once more to Odin.  “So we’ll leave now.  Thor, can you take us back now?”

“I can,” he says with a slight bow.  “Jane will be disappointed that I was unable to show her more of Asgard, but there is time plenty to return after the gossip surrounding Lady Eleanor and the trial settles.  We—”

“What is this?” Loki hisses, surprising all in the room.  There is horror in his voice, and Ellie closes her eyes, knowing that he is finally getting it.  “Eleanor!” he yells, his hand tightening on her upper arm.

“Ow, shit,” she mutters.  He lets her pry his hands away.  “It’s a tan line, Loki,” she explains.  “I’ve been in the sun and this line is from my clothing.”

“I know what a tan line is, you insolent little whelp,” he spits out.  The venom in his tone has Frigga gasping while Thor and Odin reach for their weapons.  Ellie remains calm.  She isn’t scared of him.  “Why do they mar your flesh?”

“Because I was in the sun,” she replies.

Loki stares right at her, long and hard.  She fidgets, resisting the urge to braid her hair because it annoys him.

“I’m real, Loki,” she whispers, smiling sadly.  “Seven months have passed on Midgard.  It is spring now and I’ve been outside. While I was outside, you were alone in the dungeon with your lips sewn shut.  I sent you music with Thor.”

Odin bristles at this, but Ellie focuses only on Loki.

“I hope it helped,” she continues.  “You thought about me and I thought about you too, so when Thor told me about the trial and badgered him into bringing me along.  I planned to just watch, but when I heard about your punishment I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.  You need help, Loki, and it’s going to be me.  The magic, me being your little guide or whatever, that all happened.  This is real.  We’re tied together now, whether you like it or not.”

Loki eyes narrow and he searches her face, trying desperately to determine the truth in her words.  For one little moment Loki’s gaze softens and Ellie hopes that he’ll be okay with their arrangement, but then he starts shaking again.  He stands and so does Eleanor.  She flutters behind him as he attempts to pace.  She’s seen him pace while he thinks a thousand times, but he’s too weak to do it properly now.  Ellie is terrified that he’ll just fall over at any moment.  Thor must fear the same, because he follows just behind Ellie.

It’s like a bizarre little conga line.

They end up exiting the bedroom area, following Loki to his private library, complete with giant bookcases, comfortable looking chairs and long study tables.

“You,” Loki says through his labored breathing.  He takes in great gulps of air as he tries to catch his breath.  “You did not have those lines when I last saw you.”

“Yeah,” she says.  She thinks about saying something snarky about him keeping her underground, but doesn’t.  “They’re new.”

Loki turns on his heel, stumbling slightly.  Ellie catches him by the elbow and he runs his hands roughly over her arms.

“Brother—“ Thor attempts.

“Do not!” yells Loki, his gaze never straying from Ellie.  “Do not,” he repeats.

“I’m real,” Ellie manages through her tears.  “I am.”

Loki pushes the palm of his hand into his chest, right over his heart, as if he can force it to stop beating so rapidly. He stumbles again, and Ellie grabs his waist to keep him upright.  For a moment he leans into her touch, but then the anger is back.

His hands are back on her again, rough and bruising.  His fingers dig into her upper arms, reexamining the lines of her body.

“You are greatly changed,” he says accusingly.  “The pigment of your skin is darker.  You have your _health_. There is more of you.” 

“Loki!” Frigga reprimands.  Her voice sounds very far away. 

Ellie bites the side of her cheek to keep from crying out as Loki’s hands move over her collarbones.  One grabs at her left tit momentarily before running down her side to squeeze her hips.

“More of you than there once was,” he repeats.  “You are larger.”

Thor makes a move to pull Ellie away, but stops abruptly at a barking order from the Allfather.  Ellie doesn’t really understand why he isn’t letting Thor protect her, but she is perfectly capable of dealing with Loki.  He’s having a break through here and Thor will only make him more irate.

“Your bones no longer poke out of your flesh.  There is color in your cheeks.  Gone is the emaciated little waif who could barely hold up a guitar.”  Again he throws the words at her like an accusation.

“I’ve been eating,” she murmurs.  “You were always telling me to eat.  Now you’re the emaciated one.”

Loki gapes at her for a moment.

“You are _real_ ,” he murmurs.

Ellie lets a little sob escape her chest as she nods vigorously.

“My mind isn’t playing tricks,” says Loki, eyes darting all over her face. 

Ellie shakes her head. 

“I am truly here in my rooms with you.” 

Ellie nods. 

“This is all occurring in reality.”

“Yes,” she replies, her voice breathless. 

Loki’s fingers dig in painfully to her hips and Ellie tries not to wince.

“Bót mannaforráð,” he whispers, eyes wide and terrified.  Ellie wants to reach out and comfort him, but she’s well aware that he would only reject her.  He’ll hate this.  He doesn’t trust her and he’ll hate her for this.  “Bót mannaforráð!” He is screaming now.

Ellie loses the battle against her tears as several roll down her cheeks.

“No!” he shouts.  “No, I do not agree.  Abandon me to a century of solitude.  Not this.  Anything but this.”

“Loki—“ she attempts.

“No!”

“It is done, my son,” says Odin from somewhere behind them.  Ellie briefly wonders what his false family thinks of all this.

“No,” Loki says again.  “I reject this most vehemently.  Over the rotting remains of my lifeless carcass will I allow _you_ of all people to hold sway over my life, my decisions.”

She doesn’t totally know who he means when he says _you._ Either Eleanor or Odin or both.

“You don’t have a choice,” Ellie says as gently as possible.

“I will not be ordered about by a being such as yourself!” he screams.  She can feel his breath against her cheek as he crowds her.  She can’t look him in the eye.  “Who are you?  Nothing and no one.”

“Loki!” says Frigga, horrified by her son’s manners, no doubt.  She is ignored.

“I will not be your _puppet_ ,” he hisses.

A thousand hateful responses percolate on Ellie’s tongue.  She wants to point out his hypocrisy.  She wants to remind him just what he tried to do to her with the glowing blue scepter of his and what he succeeded in doing to countless others.

But she can’t.  She just cannot do it because where he failed to control her, she’s succeeded in taking over his whole life.

“You’ll have to trust me,” Ellie says instead.  “I’ll have to earn your trust and you’ll have to earn mine.”

Loki stares at her as if she is speaking a foreign language.

“How dare you!” he screams after he snaps out of it, grabbing Ellie’s shoulders and shaking her. 

Thor moves in again, but Odin’s harsh command once more stops the rescue.  “She must determine the best course of action on her own.  Loki is the responsibility of Eleanor Tate now.”

Ellie recognizes the meaning behind these words somewhere in the back of her mind, but her head is bobbing around on her shoulders and she has no fucking clue how to be responsible for anything here.

“I absolutely _loathe_ you, you meddling little quim,” he continues to scream.  Ellie stumbles as he pushes her back into a bookshelf.  “What right do you have?  You are nothing,” he says again.  His hands wrap around the column of a throat in a way that is sickeningly familiar and she freezes.

Her stillness seems to wake him up and his hands drop form her neck, forming fists at his sides before he plows them into the shelves on either side of her head.

She squeaks, terrified.

“Loki!” she says, pleading with him to stop.  He’s bleeding and scaring her.  When the shelves are adequately destroyed he digs his nails into his own cheeks, leaving trails of blood and inflaming his puncture wounds.  “Loki, please.”

She watches helplessly as he hurts himself.  He yells at her, horrible things that reminder her of the hate he spewed at her in his cell in Stark Tower.

But she’s in charge, right?  That’s the point of this whole voodoo thing.  She’s in charge.  She can make him do anything she wants.

“Loki,” she says, her hands tugging on his wrists.  She isn’t strong enough to pull his nails from his face.  “Loki!” she says again, trying to get him to stop self-destructing for just one little second.

But he doesn’t.  He’s hurting himself and Eleanor cannot stand it a second longer.

“Stop!” Ellie screams right back.  The tingling is back and seems to bubble up through her throat and out of her mouth.  She blinks, startled by the odd sensation, but then she looks back up at Loki whose face hovers inches from her own.

His whole body immediately freezes, thoroughly shocking Eleanor.  Despite the Allfather’s explanation of this magic, seeing the power she holds over him first hand is very different.

With slow, mechanical movements, Loki straightens.  Ellie stumbles slightly when the pressure of his body is no longer holding her to the shelves.  She grabs them to steady herself as she watches Loki stand before her warily. 

She’s knows it’s backwards, but something about Loki’s quivering stillness is even more terrifying than his hands around her throat.  Everything about his stance seems foreign with the exception of his gaze.  Those emerald eyes of his absolutely scorch her.

“Whoa,” says Ellie as she continues to study him.

“Release me,” he demands through a clenched jaw.  His lips barely move and his body seems to vibrate as he fights against whatever power she holds over him.

“Whoa,” Ellie repeats.

Loki growls, his face actually twitching with his desire to throttle her once more, no doubt.

“Okay, that’s what a command feels like,” she murmurs, still somewhat dazed.  She absently touches her neck. The tingling in her throat was real weird.  “Loki, I know you don’t trust me, but try to get this through that stubborn skull of yours.”

He just growls at her again in response.

“I’m not going to start throwing around commands,” she says.  “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.  I’m not going to mould you to my will or force you into anything.  I’m not _you_.”

His eyes go wide.  Ellie takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I promise that this is going to be the one time I’ll give you a command so here it goes.”  Ellie closes her eyes, attempting to tap back in to the tingling magic Odin infused in her body.  “Do not hurt yourself.  Do not kill anyone.  Do not maim anyone.  Do not hurt anyone.  No killing or hurting or maiming.  And that includes me.  You can’t hurt me and you really, really can’t hurt _you_.”

A shiver goes through her body as the tingles dissipate.  She opens her eyes, searching Loki’s face for any sign of a reaction but he looks just the same.

“And you can move,” she quickly amends.

He falls to his knees.  Eleanor lets out a squeal, dropping down to kneel in front of him.  Her heart races as her hands flutter around him, unsure if her touch would be beneficial at this moment but then he leans against her heavily and her arms come around his neck.

“Do not lie,” he murmurs.  “It is unbecoming.”

“I’m not lying,” she assures him, pressing her lips into his temple.  “I’m not you.  You’ll see eventually.  I won’t give you any more commands.”

“I loathe this.”

“I know, but at least you won’t be alone.”

Loki sits back, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap.  Ellie lets out a sob and hugs him a little tighter.  She can feel his tears against her chest. They stay just like that for a long time.  Loki’s breathing evens out as he calms.

Ellie looks up and is a little startled to see his family gathered around them.  Frigga and Thor both openly weep.  Odin is as stern and unreadable as usual.  Frigga opens her mouth to offer some comfort but then gets choked up.  It takes another moment for her to gather herself enough to speak.

“You will leave late in the night, ensuring your privacy,” says Loki’s mother.  “We’ll have food sent up and a healer will be in to look at his mouth and scratches.  I… I suppose we will leave you now.  Until tonight.”

With a slight bow, Frigga turns to depart.  Thor and Odin follow close behind.  Loki jumps at the sound of his bedroom door closing behind his false family.

“Come on,” she says, trying to stand.  His grip on her waist becomes vice-like.  “Let’s go lie down.”

Loki let’s her pull him to his feet and over to his enormous bed.


	21. Diplomatic Disaster

“So,” she says, feeling unbearably awkward. 

Loki has not spoken a word since he fell apart in her arms in his bedroom on Asgard.  Not when Sif and the Warriors Three escorted them to the bridge, demanding answers and generally disapproving of his lack of chains.  Not when Thor used the power source from Loki’s scepter to blast them back to New Mexico.  Not when she rushed him to her jeep pasted an extremely shocked Darcy and drove him to her home. 

“This is it,” Ellie continues, gesturing to her small family room.

Loki looks around the cottage and she is brought right back to the night they met.  He regarded that shit hole apartment with a similar look of disgust.   It did not irritate her then because that apartment was foul, but this cottage is the first real home she’s managed to build for herself in nine years.

The way he looks around as if the whole situation is beneath him makes her want to smack far to beautiful face.

But he’s been tortured and his mind is a scary place and she’ll never hit him like that.  Not ever.

Ellie is somewhat stunned to realize it was just over a year ago that he abducted her. 

“Living room,” she mutters, turning in a circle.  Instead of watching him she looks at the worn leather couch and walls lined with shelves of books.  She takes in the perfect balance of organized chaos.  “Kitchen,” she says, pointing to the open area beyond the breakfast bar.

Steve put in that breakfast bar.  Tony pays her an obscene amount of money so she can afford such a nice, albeit small, place.

Damn, they are going to be pissed when they hear about this stunt.  She doesn’t even want to think about Fury’s reaction.  She is not ready to deal with her friends and employers yet.  When she thinks of them, of what her actions will mean for them, Eleanor is swamped with guilt.

Because she didn’t consider them when she agreed to this.  Not once.

Her inability to focus on anything outside Loki is the reason she dragged him out of the lab moment they touched down.  She glimpsed Darcy’s shocked face through the window and ignored Thor’s protests and got Loki in the jeep as quick as possible.

“That’s my bedroom,” she mutters, nodding to a closed door next to the kitchen.  The room just fits her bed and she barely managed to shove her dresser in the closet.  The space was obviously designed to be more of an office than a master bedroom, but she has her priorities. The larger bedroom is stuffed full of her many instruments. 

“I haven’t really… um… thought this through,” she confesses, blushing as she avoids his eyes.

Loki snorts at her the understatement of the century.

“You can sleep there,” she continues.  “I can take the couch.  Or I have a cot I can set up in the music room.  Steve sleeps there some—“

“Steve?” he spits out.  She jumps slightly, shocked to hear his voice. 

“Yeah, Captain American,” she reminds him.  It’s been months since they been alone and Ellie wonders just what he remembers.  “The man out of time.  The residence wing of the compound is too modern for him so he usually crashes here when he’s in town.”

Fuck, she is stupid, bringing up Steve like that, but she’s nervous and his silence is making her babble.

“I guess you’re going to be here for awhile,” she says, absently braiding a strand of hair as she glances around, as if the answers are hidden somewhere in her living room.  “You can have the music room eventually.  I can put in a bed and get rid of the piano.”

Loki moves to the door at the far side of the room so quickly it makes Ellie jump.  She jumps again when he slams open the door, scowling into the depths of the music room as he loiters at the threshold.

She gives him time, well aware of the fact that she’s essentially brought home a skittish animal.  He’s spent so much time alone in a cell, trapped with nothing but her voice.

He is incredibly unstable, despite this new mystical control she apparently has over him, so instead of rushing over to wrap him up in her arms, Ellie stays put, watching from across the room.

After a few minutes of strained silence during which Ellie adds four braids to her hair, Loki shoots her a questioning look over his shoulder. 

Ellie clears her throat. 

She is used to being the silent one who communicates in looks.  Maybe he doesn’t quite remember that he once again has the ability to communicate verbally now that the stitches are out.

“I badgered SHIELD into giving me a lot of the stuff they confiscated from the bunker.  I got the instruments and the Midgardian books, but not the rest,” she explains.

“And your wardrobe,” he murmurs.

“Yes.  It can be your room,” she repeats, cautiously approaching him. 

He shakes his head violently.  Ellie wants to figure out a way to make it clear that he is welcome to sleep with her, but she doesn’t want to assume.  This arrangement is complicated enough without bringing him to bed, but Ellie doesn’t bother pretending that she wouldn’t welcome him with open arms.

“Okay,” she murmurs.  “Why don’t you go lie down?  Take the bed.”

He fixes her with a stare that she has no hope of decoding.  She shuffles under his gaze until he finally wanders over to the couch.  When she understands his intention, she blocks his path.  The death glare he gives her is one she’s quite familiar with, but it never scared her.  Not really.

“Thor told me where they’ve kept you,” she whispers.  “He told me… how you stayed under the bed.  You’ve been sleeping on the floor for a long time.  Take my bed.”

Once more, he shakes his head violently.

“I insist.  Take it.  I think I can manage to shove a twin bed in the music room and that can just be my room from now on.”

More head shaking from Loki.

Ellie huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to convey just how serious she is about him taking the bed.

Loki ignores her posturing and steps around her with ease.  She tries to protest again, but he simply lies down on the couch, turning away form her. 

“Do you want to wear something more comfortable?” she asks with a sigh, realizing that in the chaos of their departure no one thought to pack Loki a bag.  “Or you could shower.”

He doesn’t move.

“Fine,” she snaps, stomping off the bathroom.  She grabs him a towel and then snags a huge pair of sweats Steve left here on his last visit.  Both items are dumped on the floor by his head.  “There is soap and shampoo and everything in there.  H stands for hot and C stands for cold.”

She was hoping to annoy a response from him with this statement of the obvious but he stays frustratingly still.

Ellie retreats to her room, not knowing what to do with herself now that Loki is really, truly here.  Despite all the alone time that’s been forced upon him lately, Loki very obviously does not want to be anywhere near her.

She tries not to let it hurt.

Ellie sits on her bed, staring at her book but not reading anything.  Twenty minutes later she hears the sound of the shower coming on.  The simple noise is a relief.

He stays in there for a very long time as Ellie tries not to picture the streams of water cascading down the pale planes of his chest. 

Eventually the shower turns off and Ellie can hear Loki as he moves to the living room.  She gives him a few minutes in case he is getting dressed before opening her own door, determined to force him to take the bed.

She stops suddenly when she sees him laid out on the couch, curled on his side but facing her this time.  He wears the sweatpants and for once he actually looks peaceful.  He almost looks content.

Ellie smiles softly and covers him with a blanket.

When she goes to bed she leaves her bedroom door open.  She sleeps sideways so she can see him until her eyes flutter closed.

* * *

 

Cool arms around her waist wake her and she fights the urge to open her eyes, pretending to sleep as he settles in behind her. 

The situation is entirely fucked up.  Try as she might, the tethers pulling her towards this troubled god seem impossible to sever, but it’s not just her.  Loki crawling in to bed with her like this proves that it’s not just her.  It’s him too.  This is not a one sided connection and neither of them are particularly good at fighting their bond.

And she went and made the bond magical, made it tangible.  

He is calm behind her.  She can feel his even breaths as if they are in her own chest. According to the Allfather, this will fade.  This awareness will not last forever but the bond will remain even after the feeling goes.

Loki slips his hand under the fabric of her t-shirt, spreading his fingers over the skin of her stomach.  Ellie waits a few minutes before moving to hold the hand.

* * *

 

The sleep is divine. 

For once she’s able to shut her brain off and really, truly sleep. 

Since leaving Stark Tower, Loki’s wellbeing was constantly in the back of her brain.  Thinking about him became like a nervous tick, something she couldn’t eradicate no matter how hard she tried.

But with Loki’s long frame wrapped around her own, it’s all quiet now. 

Until it’s not. 

She startles awake with the unpleasant realization that Loki is her responsibility now.  He might be here and safe and not alone, but ultimately Ellie is responsible.  Adequately punishing him, preventing him from hurting anyone else, helping him heal – it’s all on her.

Ellie can’t breathe.

Loki is all around her, his body curled around her back and thoughts of him in every corner of her mind, and Eleanor can’t breathe.

By some miracle she maintains a shaky calm as she carefully separates from the god in her bed and quietly crawls out of bed.  On the way out of the room she grabs her cell phone and shuts the door behind her, making as little noise as possible.

The phone is ringing as Ellie stumbles around the living room.  It is too dark.  The room is too hot and too small, but she’s magically connected to the sleeping, sick god in the other room and she didn’t think to ask his fake father how much distance is allowed between them.

But the phone is still ringing and Ellie can’t catch her breath so she risks opening the front door to crouch on the stoop.  The phone goes to voice mail and she dials again.  Her limbs get twitchy so she gets up to pace.

Between the panic and the pacing, she might as well be Loki. 

Is that part of the deal?  Is this magic going to change her?  Make her like him?  Surely, that would have been part of Odin’s disclaimer.

Fuck, how the fuck is she going to do this?

The phone rings and rings while Eleanor paces around on her small front patio.  She wants to go further, but doesn’t.  She assumes that there is some maximum distance allowed between them, but now – as she is placing a panicked phone call – is not the time to test it.

“’Ello?” Jane’s answer is garbled and sleepy. 

“Jane?” Ellie squeaks.  She doesn’t have the words for this, just strangled breaths and racing thoughts. 

“What?” Jane says, fully alert now.  There is a rustle of sheet and Ellie can picture her boss sitting up in bed.  “What happened?  Are you all right?  What did he do?”

“Jane.” Yup, that’s all she’s got at the moment.

“Thor!” Ellie winces, pulling the phone from her ear at the screeching.  “Thor, wake up.  It’s Ellie.”

“Jane! He’s asleep,” she says, talking about her god, not Jane’s god.  Thanks to Eleanor, Jane’s god is now up and bellowing incomprehensibly on the other end of the phone.  “He didn’t do anything.  I’m sorry.  I’m just.. this is all kinda hitting me right in this moment.”

“Lady Eleanor?”  Thor booms.

“Hush,” Jane says.  “She’s finally freaking out.”

“Freaking out?” asks Thor.

Jane sighs.  “I’ll explain in the morning.  Go back to sleep.”

There are a few more whispered words and the sounds of Jane moving, a door closing.  Ellie continues to silently “freak out.”

“Okay,” Jane says, talking at a normal volume now.  “What’s going on?”

“What did I do, Jane?” Ellie murmurs, collapsing down on her front stoop.

“You do realize that this is an extremely delayed reaction, right?” Jane says, yawning.

“What did I do?” she repeats.  Her hands won’t stop shaking and it’s difficult to hold the phone to her ear. “When I fell asleep I was so steady and sure about this but then I woke up and he was right there!  I was so focused on getting him out of a hundred fucking years of fucking solitude that I didn’t think this through.”

Jane snorts.  “That’s a rather mild assessment.”

 “This is insane!” she says, putting her head between her knees.  “What was I thinking?  I don’t know how to help him.  I’ve very obviously seen too many bad-boy meets good-girl and falls for her and it changes him type movies.  It’s a ridiculous literary trope.  I’ve turned myself into a ridiculous literary trope.”

“You see yourself as the good girl?”

The snarky question somehow makes breathing a little easier.  Ellie even almost laughs.

“No,” she says with a slight chuckle.  “I nearly as big of a mess as he is, just less murderous and power hungry.  It’s like the blind leading the blind over here.”

“You were a mess,” Jane corrects.  “So lead by example.”

“No one can save anyone,” Ellie says.  “You can’t save anyone who doesn’t want to save themselves.”

“That’s true,” agrees the astrophysicist.  “But you can give him a chance, give him the proper environment for healing to be a possibility.”

For a few beats Ellie is calm but she thinks about going back inside to her occupied bed and the panic stirs up all over again.

“He’s here.  With me!” she squeaks.  “What am I supposed to do with him now?”  Ellie needs to get this out, even if Jane isn’t totally necessary to this conversation and it’s after four AM.  “What kind of pathetic person goes to a different realm and forces a criminal god to come home with her?” Ellie asks.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Jane says.  “Your heart is in the right place here.”

“Stop,” Ellie replies.  “Don’t defend me.  I’m no better than he is.  This is just what he did to me last year.  I’ve kidnapped him and taken away his choice and exerted my control over him.  I’m as bad as he is, maybe even worse.  What is wrong with me?”

“You are not like him and this is hardly kidnapping.  The whole thing is crazy, but even Loki’s got to see that you did this because you love him.”

Ellie’s heart stops and she drops the phone.  When she manages to pick it up with shaking hands, she has still not recovered from her shock. 

“I, um, no.  That’s not a thing that I do.  Uh, shit.  No.  Yeah.  I don’t do that.  I can’t do that.  I don’t do those kinds of feelings.  Fuck.”

“Eleanor—“

“Just don’t give me anything else to freak out about!” she manages.

“Okay,” Jane agrees.  “Look, this is a bit of a mess, but there is not much you can do.  You don’t want to be like him?  Fine.  Then don’t.  Keep your promise and don’t use that freaky power over him.  Let him recover.  Talk to him.  Be careful and give him the choice.  If he wants to go back, to serve his time alone, you let him.”

Ellie doesn’t like that at all.

“I’m seriously, Ellie.  Give him the choice.  You let him.”

“I let him,” she repeats.

“What else can you do?” Jane asks.  “Unless you want to change your mind?  It’s okay if you send him back.”

“He’s not a puppy I picked up at the pound on a whim!”  Although, whim is an unfortunately accurate term for it. 

“Yeah, I know.  But this doesn’t have to be your life if you don’t want it to be.”

“I chose him, Jane.”

“And now you’ve got to let him choose too.”

Eleanor is silent and her heart rate slows.

“Better?” Jane asks.

“Yeah.”

“Just, be careful, Eleanor.”

“I will.  I’m sorry I called you so early.  Or late.  Or whatever,” Ellie says, suddenly embarrassed by her “freak out.”

“Hey, I meant it when I said call anytime.”

Ellie gets to her feat, leaning against her railing to keep herself upright.

“Go back to your god,” Ellie mutters.  “I’ll get back to mine.”

“Okay,” Jane says with a chuckle.  “We’re here for you.  You’ve got people.”

Loki is still and sleeping when she returns, just as she left him.  She crawls in next to him and it only takes Loki a few seconds to reach out for her.

The unconscious gesture makes Eleanor feel better, but only slightly.

* * *

 

The next time she opens her eyes, she is mostly calm.  The situation doesn’t seem quite so dire, but Ellie cannot deny she is overwhelmed.

She treasures the peace of the morning and lets herself enjoy his solidness behind her.

In the night his hand migrated from her stomach to rest curled against the mattress right in front of her face.  She plays with his fingers, admiring his hands.  They are so beautiful and elegant. 

His breathing changes and his heart rate picks up.  She tenses slightly, anticipating his coldness and his quick departure, but he just pushes his lips into the skin at the back of her neck before settling again.  

Ellie smiles softly when it becomes apparent that Loki remains sleeping, but then a loud knock from the front door threatens to wake him up.  Even after a good solid chunk of sleep, Loki looks so exhausted. 

And she has a pretty good idea of who is at the door, definitely not anyone that Loki is keen to see.

As carefully as possible, Ellie moves away from Loki.  She crawls off the end of the bed, cursing her self as she trips, her feet thudding as she regains her balance.  The knocking gets louder and Ellie grabs a pair of tights off the floor before carefully closing the door behind her.

She is totally unsurprised to see Tony Stark’s stupid head bobbing around beyond her front door.  He reaches up to knock again before Ellie can manage to pull on the tights, so she yanks open the door while still wearing no pants.

“Oh, this is just perfect,” he grumbles, shaking his head as he stares down at her as she fumbles with her tights.  “Looking good, Britney.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, finally fully clothed.  “Nothing happened.”

“That is not what I hear,” he says, continuing to scowl.  Ellie can’t recall Tony looking this serious ever before.  “Word on the street is you came home from Asgard with a new pet.”

Ellie glances over her shoulder at her closed bedroom door, hoping that Loki sleeps on.  He would really freak out about being referred to as a pet.

She really can’t handle any more freak outs at this point.

“Word on the street is you threatened a terrorist,” she shoots back, going on the defensive.  “I’m not sure you are in any position to question my decisions.”

“That worked out in the end,” he says, waving a dismissive hand around his head.  “And we’re not talking about me.  Where’s lover boy?”

“It’s not like that,” she insists.

“Then what is it like?” asks a new voice that decidedly does not belong to Tony Stark.

Ellie sticks her head out of the door to see Captain America himself lingering off to the side of the doorframe.  His hair is as perfectly combed as usual.  The brown leather bomber jacket is equally as familiar and Ellie lights up at the sight of him.

Pulling the front door shut behind her, she moves to give Steve a friendly hug.

“I thought you were in London?” Ellie asks when she releases him.  Steve studies the ground, obviously uncomfortable.

“We were both in Europe when we got a very interesting phone call,” Tony says, peaking through the windows on her front door.  “Less than an hour later we were on my jet, crossing the ocean.”

“Did Darcy rat me out?”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” demands Tony, actually stomping his foot as he pouts at her.

“I thought I might get a day of peace,” she mutters.  “Thanks for pounding on my door so early, asshole.  Some people need to sleep.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” mutters Steve.

“Late night?” Tony asks.

“It’s not like that,” she insists again.

“And we’re back to the fucking beginning,” says Tony, dramatically flourishing his hands.  “So tell us, Miss Tate.  What is it like?”

“Hey, Tony, I am glad you’re not dead.”  She is totally genuine now because those few days when the world thought Iron Man was gone were awful.  “Really.  It’s good to see you in one piece.  Try to be a bit more careful, next time.”

“I saved the world, Madonna,” he says, grinning.  “Again.”

“Can we focus here please,” says Steve with a sigh.

“Right,” Tony mutters.  “And we’re back to the fucking beginning.  So tell us, Miss Tate.  What is it like?”

Shit, there is no distracting them.

Ellie bounces on the balls of her feet, feeling horribly uncomfortable as the pair of superheroes scrutinizes her.  These two men have done so much for her and bringing Loki back into their lives feels like a betrayal.

It _is_ a betrayal. 

The silence gets unbearable as the two just look at her until she cracks.

“They sentenced him to a century of solitary confinement, okay!” she bursts out.  Both men groan and Tony Stark paces around in her front yard, hands folded over the back of his head.  “That is a hundred years all alone!”

“Did you ever stop to think that he might possibly deserve it?” asks Steve.  Ellie is somewhat shocked to see him so angry.  “Do you remember what he did to New York last August?  Do remember him kidnapping you, Eleanor?  He, he…”  Steve turns absolutely fuchsia.  “Raped you.”

These last words are whispered.  They have Tony moving back to better hear.

Ellie just silently gapes at him, her mouth moving like a fish, for a long moment before she finally finds the words.

“No!” she shouts as the men stare at her in horror.  Ellie glances over her shoulder, peaking through the windows to see her closed bedroom door.  “That is not what happened.  Is that what everyone at SHIELD thinks happened?” she squeaks.

“No one gets it at all to be honest, Elle,” Tony says, his tone soothing now.  “There were the bruises on your neck but also that whole bit with Hawkeye and the French toast.”

“He put some sort of spell over you,” Steve decides.  “That’s it.  That’s the only explanation for your behavior.”

Ellie scowls up at the chiseled blond. 

“No, that is most definitely not it.  He lost his magic after Dr. Banner beat the shit out of him.  And now I don’t think he is mentally strong enough right now to magic anything.  He couldn’t even change his clothes.”

There is silence for a moment as the men digest this information.  Tony has a dreamy look on his face, as if he is fondly imagining Loki getting tossed around.  Ellie doesn’t like it.

“He deserves to be punished,” Steve insists.  “And he’s from a different planet.  What happens to him is an Asgardian matter.  None of our concern any longer.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Of course he deserves to be punished,” she says.  “But he also deserves a shot at getting better.  He’s sick, okay?  You might not get mental illness, but I do and a century of solitary confinement won’t do anything but make him more insane and therefore more dangerous.”

Tony and Steve just blink at her. 

“Wow, that actually kinda makes sense,” Tony begrudgingly admits.  “You should really play up the whole more dangerous angle when you meet with Fury.”

“I have to meet with Fury?” asks Ellie, wincing slightly.

“No shit,” says Tony.  “You zapped back down to Earth with public enemy number one.  You are fucking meeting with Fury.”

“He won’t hurt anyone,” she murmurs.

“Of course he will,” Steve says.  “Hurting people is what guys like Loki do.  And you’ll be the one to end up dead, Eleanor.”

Shaking her head at Captain America, Ellie crosses her arms over her chest to properly scowl at him.  He doesn’t trust her and that stings.

“I’m not a total idiot, you know.  He’s hurt a lot of people, myself included.  I remember that better than you two clowns.  It’s not going to happen again,” she insists.

This time it’s Steve who feels the need to walk it off around her front yard. 

“Are you hearing how naive you sound?” Tony asks.  “’He won’t hurt me again.’ That is like the catch phrase of abused women everywhere who don’t have a way out.  But you do, Ellie.  You have us.  Fucking ‘won’t hurt you again.’  What the fuck?”

Again, Ellie rolls her eyes.

“No, Iron _Ass_ ,” she snaps.  “I mean he is physically incapable of hurting me.  I forbid him from hurting me or anyone else.”

“You forbid it?”

“Yeah,” she says, ignoring the way Tony is eyeing her.  “It’s how I got him out of a hundred years of solitude.  They have this crazy old law in Asgard that someone can step up and take responsibility for the punishment and rehabilitation of the accused.  They have some weird Old Norse word for it, but it’s a bit like a mentor.”

“You are his mentor?”

“This is not a conversation,” Ellie says with a sigh.  “You just repeating everything I say is not going to get us anywhere.”

“You are his _mentor_?”

“Okay, so maybe mentor isn’t the right word.  Thor says there isn’t really an equivalent in English.”

“Try to explain,” Tony requests, sounding a bit like he is choking.  He actually tugs on the collar of his neatly pressed shirt.

“Odin worked some voodoo so now Loki is physically bound to obey my commands,” she says, feeling completely ridiculous.

Tony smirks at her.  “Kinky.”

“It’s not like that!” she squeaks.

“This could be really gloriously fun, you know,” Tony says, stroking his goatee like an evil mastermind.

“No,” she says.  “No way.  No.  I’ve only given him one weird, mystical command and it kind of burns.  I told him he can’t hurt or maim or kill anyone and I’m not going to give him anymore.  This is like his greatest fear, you know.”

“Oh, it’s ever so delicious,” Tony says, continuing to snicker.  “After what he did to Selvig and Clint.  After what he tried to do to you!  Oh, this is perfect.  Just think of the glorious, glorious humiliation.”

“You’re an asshole,” declares Ellie, glaring daggers at her employer.

“Let’s command him to be a ballerina,” Tony says, actually bouncing in his excitement.  “He’ll look great in pink.”

“Stop screwing around, Stark,” snaps Steve, stalking back to Ellie’s front stoop.  “Our only concern right now needs to be Ellie’s safety and the safety of the public at large.”

“Lighten up, Cap.  You really—“

“Eleanor!” The muffled shout from inside the house stops the fight brewing between the superheroes before it can really even kick off.

“Excuse me,” Ellie murmurs, slipping inside and shutting the door in the faces of two sixths of the Avengers.

He’s standing in the doorway of her room, looking adorably rumpled but also painfully confused.

“Loki,” she says, locking her knees to keep herself from rushing over to him.  “I’m here.”

He reaches for her and that’s all the motivation she needs to cross the bit of distance between them.  Loki wraps one arm around her shoulders and leans heavily on the doorframe to her bedroom for support.

“Where am I?” he asks into her hair.

“You are back on Midgard with me,” she explains, hoping he doesn’t completely lose it.  “You are here in my home in New Mexico.”

He nods and holds her a little closer.

“You’re okay.  You are Loki and you are safe and real.  I am Eleanor and I’m safe and real, too.”

“Not a delusion.”

“Not a delusion,” she repeats.  “The real deal.”

“I am angry with you,” he says when the fog in his head clears.  “I am furious.”

Sighing heavily, Ellie takes a step back.  She reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, smiling ruefully.  “Yeah, I’m really hoping you’ll get over that sooner rather than later.”

“You have total control over my life,” he spits out.  “You.  A little wisp of a nobody.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “I saved your ass, bucko.”

Loki looms over her, looking absolutely murderous.  Despite their past, Ellie refuses to show any fear.

“Well,” says Tony.  “This is far from encouraging.”

Iron Man has no respect for the obvious message behind a closed door.

“Are those my pants?” asks Steve.

Ellie closes her eyes and rubs her temples as Loki stalks to the bathroom without so much as a word.

“This is hard enough without the two of you antagonizing him,” she snaps.  “Will you just lay off?”

Tony and Steve just stare at her with varying degrees of anger and bafflement.  Tony is the first to recover, but he shakes his head a couple times first, as if he is attempting to clear it.

“Okay.  Fine.  I don’t get whatever the fuck is happening here, but Fury is at the compound so I’ll stay here with Reindeer Games and Steve can take you in, Miss Eleanor,” declares Tony.

“You’re not even wearing the suit,” snaps Steve.  “I’ll stay. You take Ellie.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but Ellie speaks up.

“He’s coming.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” asks Tony.

“It’s not a choice,” she says with a shrug.  “He goes where I go.  It’s part of the deal.  We can’t get more than like fifty feet apart or something like that.”

There is a beat of potent silence.

“What the fuck did you sign up for?” asks Tony.

Loki slams out of the bathroom at this moment, clothed in his standard Asgardian getup – a tunic and leather pants. He shoves the neatly folded sweatpants into Steve’s chest and the world’s first superhero is forced to take a step back.

Ellie latches onto Loki’s elbow as all the men in her life scowl at each other.

“We may need to go shopping.  You’ll fry in this thing,” she mutters inanely as she fiddles with his collar. Loki transfers his scowl from the boys to her and she drops her hand.

“Are you dragging me back to see my dear old friends, Eleanor?” Loki hisses.

“Unfortunately. If you’re up for it.  We’re going to have to go eventually.  I for one think we should just get it over with.  If you’re up for it.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at her.

“What do you think?” she asks when he fails to answer.

“You ask my opinion?”

“Um, yeah.  It’s not like I can just go on my own.  What do you think?”

“We will get this over with now.”

“Cool. I have to get dressed.”  She’s pulling on his elbow again, dragging him back towards the bedroom.

“We can wait with him while you change, Ellie,” Steve says.

Ellie just shakes her head.  There is no way she is leaving the three of them alone.  They’ll totally destroy her living room in less than five minutes.

She leans back against her door for a moment when she gets it closed, trying to collect herself. 

“Are you all right?” Loki murmurs, voice soft.

Ellie just nods, letting her head fall back against the wood.  She keeps her eyes closed, not quiet ready to deal with the drastic turn her life has taken.  This is not something she really thought through, but even given a month to reflect on the pros and cons of becoming Loki’s bot _whatever_ , she’d do the same thing.  There really was never a choice at all.

She can feel Loki hovering, only inches separating their bodies.  Without even opening her eyes she can sense him.

His fingertips trail up her throat until his thumb strokes her jaw.  The movement coaxes her eyes open.

“Shall I kill them for you?” he offers.

“No.  I like them.”

“They cause you torment.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You made me wear that foul mortal’s pants.”

“At least they were clean.”

“I am now clean.”

Ellie smiles, leaning in to his touch.

“That’s what we’re working on,” she whispers.  Loki’s eyes narrow in confusion, but Ellie slips away to rifle through her closet before he can say anything.  She selects a simple halter dress that stops just passed her knees.  She considers retreating to the bathroom to change, but there is nothing under this oversized t-shirt that he hasn’t seen before.

With quick movements, she pulls the t-shirt off and slips the dress over her head.  She takes off the tights from under her dress and then turns around.

“That is indecent,” Loki says. Although he leans against a wall opposite her, he isn’t quite able to pull off a casual feeling of indifference.  Ellie gives him a measured look before grabbing a thin black cardigan.  Loki nods his approval of her black and green ensemble, although he scowls again when she slips her feet into a pair of worn Birkenstocks. 

Ellie pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands before taking Loki’s arm.

“Ready?” she asks.  He reaches out to steal her hair tie.  She shakes her head as her hair tumbles down around her shoulders.  Ellie takes the elastic band, slipping it onto her wrist.

“Absolutely not.” 

He puts up no resistance when she walks him out of the cramped bedroom.

* * *

 

“It is true and binding magic, Nick Fury,” Thor insists, watching the Director of SHIELD pace along the curved row of windows lining the far side of the lab.  Ellie sits between Darcy and Jane on the couch, while Thor stands nearby.   Tony, Steve, and Natasha all gather by the sliding glass doors.  “The power will hold Loki until our father sees him properly rehabilitated.”

Ellie is super attuned to Loki, lurking in the shadows far behind them in the depths of the lab.  She is aware of his every movement, his every shift and twitch and breath.

It will certainly take some time to get used too.

Except she won’t have to because this will fade.

“I’m not trying to insult the Allfather’s magic,” says Fury, continuing his pacing.  “My main concern here is that our Miss Tate is too lovesick to control your psycho brother.  That silver tongue of his will get to talking and our Miss Tate will swoon, and the next thing we know we’ll have another goddamn invasion on our hands!”

Ellie bristles.  Director Fury obviously doesn’t know her at all.  Despite her inexplicable fascination with the God of Lies, Ellie is not weak nor is she soft nor is she stupid.  Loki will not be hurting any one or taking over anything on her watch.

Even if it means she’ll have to give up, sending him back to the tender mercies of the Allfather.

“My brother no longer desires to rule Midgard,” Thor says as if it should be obvious.  All eyes turn on Loki, save for Eleanor who stays facing forward.  She feels him bristle with discomfort. 

“That true, Reindeer Games?” asks Tony.

Loki stays silent.  Ellie turns on the couch to give him a pleading look.  When he does not respond she is forced to use her words.

“Can you help me out here, please?” she asks.

“Is that a command?” he snaps, his body tensed with hate and fear.  He is so ready to distrust her, so ready for her to break her promise this easily.

“You know it isn’t,” she murmurs.

Loki sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping as he scans the notes scattered about on Jane’s desk.

“Why I ever had any desire to rule this worthless spit of rock remains a mystery,” he replies dryly.  “With the exception of Eleanor and her voice I have encountered absolutely nothing worth while.”

With the exception of Ellie’s stifled giggle, there is total silence.

“Well, I feel _so_ much better,” quips Tony after a moment.

“Still think we’re ants, Laufeyson?” asks Fury.  “It was us who did the stomping back in New York, I recall.”

The tension in Loki’s body is so great it spills over on to Ellie.  She is overcome with the urge slap the director of SHIELD. Thor even growls at the man.  Fury stops his pacing to survey the room.

Ellie folds her legs under her body to prevent them from taking her across the room to give the God of Lies a hug.  He certainly would not appreciate that, given their present company.

“We can go,” Ellie murmurs, feeling deadly.  “He’s with me indefinitely and if you want Loki gone, then we’ll go.  We’ll be fucking fine.”

Maybe.

“May I remind you of our current diplomatic situation that places Midgard under my protection,” Thor says.  “I would not want anything decided here to change this, Director Fury.”

The threat is clear.  Ellie pales.  The consequences of her actions keep getting bigger and bigger.

“Thor, it’s fine.  I’m sure Maureen would take us in.”  Ellie would rather stick pins in her eyes.  “We’ll be fine.  We can go.”

“Oh, that is not an option, Miss Tate,” Fury says. “I’m keeping my eye on you.  On both of you.”

“Right,” says Tony, drawing out the syllable.  “Look, Nick, I don’t think you are giving Ellie enough credit.  Sure, this whole thing is insane, but she’s not going to let him take over the planet or slaughter the townsfolk.  Have you ever tried to convince Ellie to do anything she didn’t want to do?  Because in my experience that’s just not going to happen.”

Ellie gives Iron Man a grateful smile.

“Do you have any idea what you are doing here, Miss Tate?” Director Fury asks.

“Nope,” she replies.  “Not really.  But he won’t hurt anyone.  He can’t.  I uh… commanded him.”

The strangeness of that fact is something that Ellie will probably never get used to.  She doesn’t want to be able to command Loki.  She isn’t like him.  She doesn’t feel the need to bend anyone to her will, but in the moment she understands the necessity.

“Is it like what he did with the power of the Tesseract?” asks Natasha.

Loki lets out a rueful chuckle. 

“Oh, if only Odin’s power was as merciful as the Tesseract,” he says wistfully.

“Merciful!” spits out Natasha, making Loki chuckle once more.

“Ah, yes.  I’d forgotten your devotion to the Hawk.  I assure you, Black Widow, your companion was free of all pain and fear during his time under the power of the Tesseract,” replies Loki.

Ellie turns in her seat to look at Loki because she was there during the god’s time under the influence of the Tesseract.  Barton may have been free of all pain and fear, but Loki was just full of both.

Still is, actually.

“If it’s not like the Tesseract what is it like?” asks Fury.

Everyone looks at Ellie but she glances at Thor.  She barely understands herself and there is no chance of her explaining in a coherent way.

“The Tesseract exerts its power over the mind,” Loki drawls as if he’s totally bored.  “Odin’s bót mannaforráð magic manifests in the body.  The Allfather bestowed the lovely Eleanor with the ability to control my movements at will.”

“Bot manwhatnow?” asks Tony.

“Literally it means atonement authority,” supplies Thor.

“I’m responsible for both his punishment and redemption,” murmurs Ellie.  The whole thing is still totally unbelievable.  She glances around for a trash can, thinking for a moment that she my puke up all the nothing she’s eaten since being back on Earth.

“And just how are you planning to accomplish that?” demands Fury, the leather of his trench stretches as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Ellie just shrugs.  This is all very new to her.  At some point she’ll figure it out, but for now it seems like being here on Midgard with her in charge is punishment enough.

“Okay, so just to clarify,” says Steve.  “Eleanor commanded Loki not to hurt anyone.  What happens if he tries?”

“It would be impossible,” explains Thor.  “He would be unable to move his form.”

“My limbs would lock,” Loki mutters, obviously miserable.  “I would be unable to move, although my mind would stay my own.  Eleanor has full control of my body.”

Color floods Ellie’s cheeks and she can feel Loki staring at her.

“What were your exact words?” asks Fury.  “When you gave him this command not to hurt anyone.  What did you say?”

“Um… I don’t really remember,” Ellie confesses, feeling flustered.  She glances once again back at Loki.  He clearly remembers every word but has no interest in sharing.

“Stark and Rodgers both think you can handle this, Miss Tate,” Director Fury says, obviously reaching some sort of decision.  “Given that this has the potential to become a complete diplomatic disaster, I don’t really seem to have much choice but to trust that.  But the least you can do is give him a command not to hurt or kill or try to take over the planet that is worded by us.  It’s got to be iron clad so that there is no way to for him to weasel around it.  No loopholes.”

Ellie once more turns back to Loki.  It is a fair request on the part of SHIELD and she didn’t put much thought into her last attempt at giving a command, but she made a promise to Loki, that she would never control him further than that.

Loki glares at her.

“What do you think?” she murmurs.

Loki raises a single eyebrow, cocking his head to the side to study her.  She’s somewhat pleased to see that she’s surprised him.

“You’re asking me?” he whispers.

“It seems like a fair request,” she says, shrugging.  Loki’s eyes dart around, taking in all those watching their conversation but Ellie just looks at him.  “I promised it would be just this one command, but really this is the same command just worded differently.  And you have no desire to rule our worthless little planet, so it shouldn’t matter, anyway.”

Those piercing green eyes of his find hers again.  He scowls at her for a moment before begrudgingly nodding.

“I would like a provision to defend myself,” he murmurs.  “And to defend Eleanor.”

“That sounds fair,” Ellie agrees, turning back to Fury. 

“You want to defend her now?” Steve yells, startling everyone with the level of his anger.  “You think you can protect her after the bruises you put on her neck?  You’re going to kill her!”

She feels Loki curl his hands into fists.

“Steve,” Ellie says, struggling to remain calm.  “He can’t and he won’t.  His body won’t let him hurt me.  And given the kind of shit SHIELD exposes me to, can you really get angry at his desire to have a provision to protect me?” She turns back to Fury.  “It sounds fair,” she repeats.

The director of SHIELD glares between the two of them for a long moment. 

“I’m keeping my eye on you.  On both of you,” he says again.

An hour and a half later Ellie gives the new, perfectly worded command.


	22. Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heather helped beta the rest of these chapters. Yeah Heather! Lots of love to the speediest beta in all the land!

“This is by far the strangest thing I’ve ever done,” Darcy declares, following Ellie around the rows of the menswear section in the only sportswear store in Puente Antiguo.  Various under cover SHIELD agents loiter around the store, waiting for Loki to get his violent rampage on.

Unfortunately, this trip is necessary.  Because everyone around him is an idiot – Ellie included – Loki has only a pair of pants, a tunic, and some odd soft slipper-looking shoes here on Earth.  Somehow Ellie doesn’t think Loki is down to wear Steve’s clothes.

Thus the shopping trip.

“You work for SHIELD,” replies Ellie, selecting a package of black Hines t-shirts.  “You’ve tasered the God of Thunder.”

“Well, shopping for the God of Lies is way stranger than that,” Darcy says, just continuing to follow Ellie around. 

“I did not ask you to join us,” Ellie says.  After the meeting with Fury broke up, Darcy buckled herself into the backseat of Ellie’s jeep, refusing to get out of the vehicle even with all the deathly glares Loki was shooting in her direction.

“Maybe I didn’t want to leave you alone with him.”

There are at least four SHIELD agents here as far as Eleanor can tell.  She is far from alone.

Ellie grabs a package of boxer briefs, also in black, and cranes her neck to see Loki over the shelves.  He studies a selection of crossbows while a group of townsfolk study him.  Several years ago he leveled half this town in an attempt to kill his fake brother, but the people staring don’t know that.  All they see is a beautiful man in odd clothing.

“Darcy, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What?  I just don’t really believe that this spell of Odin’s is going to do its job,” she continues.  “I think he’s just going to lull you into a false sense of security and just when you start to trust him he’ll murder you in your sleep.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“He blew up this town you know,” Darcy says.

“I know.”

“Dude seems pretty unstable to me.”

Ellie sighs and moves away, hoping Darcy will just stay in the clothes section as she makes her way to Loki’s side.  He’s still staring at the weapons, seemingly unaware of the crowd he’s attracting.

Not much happens in this small town.  Loki will be the gossip for weeks.

“Hi,” Ellie murmurs as she slides up to him.  She can feel a ripple of surprise go through the crowd at the sight of someone so seemingly normal easily approaching someone so strange.

“Eleanor,” Loki murmurs in greeting as he turns away from the wall of weapons.  She wonders if he is even aware of the way his body tilts towards hers whenever she is close.  He looms over her, equal parts protective and threatening.

“I got you your own sweatpants,” she says.

Loki just nods absently.  Ellie wonders what is going on inside that head of his.  He reaches out to pull out her hair tie.  She takes it from him as he pushes a hand through her messy blond mane.

“I garner too much attention,” he murmurs, eyes searching her face.

“It’s because you’re so damn pretty.”

Loki scowls at her.  “Make your purchases.  I wish to leave this place.”

When Ellie turns towards the cashiers, she can feel Loki trailing just behind her.

“May we leave the chatty brunette here?” he asks as Ellie hands over her credit card.  “So many leagues trapped in a metal box with this incessant irritant is unbearable.”

“Consider it the first part of your punishment.”

* * *

 

A shiny silver sports car is parked in Ellie’s usual spot at the side of the cottage after they drop Darcy off at the compound.  As Ellie pulls in next to it she groans and lets her forehead drop to the steering wheel.  The wail of the horn makes Loki jump and Ellie immediately feels guilty. 

Loki is very good at pretending to be totally fine, but he isn’t.  He is doing a fabulous job keeping it together for the sake of the Avengers, but his confusion and jitters are apparent to Ellie.

“Who is in your home, Eleanor?” he asks as if she planned this.

“Tony,” she murmurs, scowling at the sports car.  “Definitely Tony and probably Steve.”

Loki hisses under his breath.

“Again?” he demands.

“You’re tired,” Ellie murmurs, taking in the bags under his eyes. 

This is his first day out in the real world after months of rotting away in a dungeon with his lips stitched together.  So far she’s forced him endure Fury’s interrogation, an hour in the car with Darcy the chatterbox, and a shopping trip amongst ogling townsfolk.

Wow, she’s such an _asshole_.

Loki frowns but lets her stroke his cheek for a moment anyway.

“I’ll get rid of them,” she assures him, grabbing the bags from the back and opening her door.  She senses Loki following her up the front path less than a pace behind her.

Tony is lounging on her couch, beer in hand, while Cap sits stiffly in an easy chair, hands folded in his lap.  Ellie scowls at the pair of them.

“How did you get in here?” she snaps as Loki continues to stand just behind her in the small entryway. 

“Who has two thumbs and installed your security,” Tony says, pointing to himself with two thumbs.  “This guy.  Hey, do you have anything a bit stronger?”  He shakes his near empty bottle in Ellie’s general direction.  She snags it out of his hand.

“Haven’t I seen enough of the pair of you for one day?” she snaps, totally at the end of her rope.  The affronted expression on Steve’s face makes her feel a little guilty, but then she remembers Loki’s extreme exhaustion.

“I’m only in town for a few more days,” Tony says with mock hurt.  “Don’t you want to hang out with me before I leave?”

“No.”

“Just like that?” asks Tony, pouting.

“Yes.”

Tony sighs heavily, exchanging a sidelong glance at with Steve.

“First Darcy, now you two,” mutters Ellie, stomping off to the kitchen.  She dumps what little remains of Tony’s beer down the sink before tossing the bottle in the recycling bin.  “Get out now, please,” she says, leaning against the counter and scowling into the living room.

“Okay, okay, you want your alone time.  I get it,” says Tony, standing and coming to the island counter opposite Eleanor.  “Really, we just stopped by to drop off this.”

He slides over a small black remote on a keychain.  For a moment Ellie thinks he is handing over the keys to his fancy silver sports car.

“It’s a panic button,” murmurs Tony.  Ellie looks beyond him to Loki who still stands by the front door, his body rigid and face hard.  “Push that and you’ll be swarmed with security, where ever you are.  It’s a direct line to SHIELD.  You keep this on you at all times, Eleanor.  Do you hear me?”

He is so serious and intense Ellie can’t think of anything to do but nod.  She slides it off the counter and into her pocket.  Tony lets out a low breath and he relaxes slightly.  Abruptly he leans over the counter and kisses her forehead.

Loki takes a step towards them, but then Tony is pulling away, nodding at Steve who stands.

“Family dinner tomorrow night, okay?” Tony says.  “We promise to leave you alone until then if you promise to show up.  Right, Cap?”

“Right,” mutters Steve, glaring daggers at Loki.

“Loki and I will discuss it,” Ellie says, surprising all three of the men posturing in her living room.  “Now off with you.”

Ellie holds her breath as Steve and Tony puff out their chests and stare down Loki.  He passively stares back and suddenly Ellie is so thoroughly exhausted. 

“You hurt her,” murmurs Steve, his voice low and dangerous, “I will rip you apart.”  And then he grabs Tony Stark by the elbow, dragging him out the front door.  The sound of Tony’s car turning out floods Ellie with relief.  She can breathe again.

Without a word Loki moves into the bedroom. Ellie just stays in the kitchen, trying to decide whether or not to follow him.

He is shaking, sitting on the end of her bed because his legs won’t hold him anymore.

She follows. 

Loki sits with his head in his hands, stripped down his tunic and leather pants.  His posture makes him seem just so incredibly lost.  It breaks Ellie’s heart a little.  He just radiates pain.

With tentative steps, Ellie approaches him.  She folds her legs under herself and sits on the bed, being careful not to touch him.  Ellie wonders if he can sense her like she can sense him.

“Here are your clothes,” she says, putting the bags on the bed between their bodies.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, still not moving.  Ellie stares at him with wide eyes, surprised by his manners.

“Where are you right now?” she summons the courage to ask.

“Here,” he replies.  “With you.”

“It’s better than spending a century alone, isn’t it?” she whispers.  This is the worst part.  His anger at her is the only thing that makes her question this decision that has forever altered both their lives.

Slowly, he raises his head.  He looks right through her and Ellie searches his gaze, trying to understand.  If she can’t understand then who else is there?

“Better for who?” he asks.

The question knocks the wind out of her for a moment because it makes it seem like he cares.  The question makes it seem like her wellbeing is the reason for his anger, not her power over him.  He is a burden to her now.  She’s once more changed the course of her life for this.

She knows he cares in his own limited way.  She knows he wants her safe, but beyond that and Loki’s strange dependence on her when he loses his mind, he’s never given any sign that he really likes her at all.

“For you,” she whispers.  “It’s better for you.”

“And you?”

Ellie is quiet for a long moment, really thinking about what he’s asking.   It’s been such a whirlwind and she acted so quickly, there has not been much time to process what all this actually means for her life and her wellbeing.

“Well,” she finally manages, reaching out to rub his back.  “You certainly aren’t making my life any worse.”

Ellie can feel Loki’s chuckle.

“Do you want to go to family dinner?” she asks.

“Dining with your false family do you mean?”

Continuing to rub circles on his back, Ellie smiles slightly.

“No, Tony was talking about dinner with everyone in town associated with the Avengers.  Thor, Jane, Darcy, Steve.  Probably Natasha.  Fury if we are really unlucky.”

“Steve?”

“Yes, Captain America.  He was just here.  You might remember him,” she teases.  Loki does not return her smile but he doesn’t shake off her hand either.  Their bodies are once more angled towards each other.

“I do not wish to attend this event,” Loki murmurs, dropping his face to his hands once more.

“Yeah, me neither.  But it might make our lives easier.  Tony might never leave if we don’t at least show up,” Ellie says.

“These mortals you have surrounded yourself with do not understand magic.”

“No,” she says with another smile.  “They don’t get it, but neither do I really, so there you go.”

His head snaps up and the intensity of his glare has Eleanor dropping her hand.

“You willingly bound your life up in forces you have no understanding of?” he hisses.

Ellie just shrugs.

“You are even more of a fool than I originally thought, Eleanor Tate,” he mutters, turning away from her any lying down on the bed.  “Will you sing to me?”

It is the first time it is actually a request rather than a demand.

“Yes,” she says, already walking out the door.  “Guitar or banjo?”

“Guitar.”

* * *

 

Dinner is terrible and awkward, not that Eleanor thought it would be anything different. 

On the way, she hopes her friends and colleagues will show some understanding towards the fragile God of Mischief, but Loki does a wonderful job coming off as arrogant and sullen rather than confused and jittery. 

The persona is so convincing Eleanor wonders for a moment if his mental breakdowns have all been a rouse designed to play on her sympathies and savior complex, but then she remembers the fear in his eyes when he finally understood that she was really with him, that she would be for the foreseeable future.

She’s seen this before.  It’s rather amazing, his ability to be this super villain around the Avengers and everyone else.  

They arrive late to Tony’s suite in the compound, a purposeful strategy on Eleanor’s part.  Drinks are always a prelude to dinner with Iron Man and there is no way in hell she will be subjecting Loki to mingling with his enemies.

He lets go of her hand just before they enter the dining area, and Ellie tries not to pout about it.

“Ah, the Lady Eleanor,” says Tony when they appear.  He sits at the head of the table, chair tilting back on two legs and tumbler of whiskey dangling from his hand.  He looks like a drunken royal, presiding over his own little dominion, but his eyes are sharp and calculating.  “And her faithful poodle.  We were just talking about you.  Glad you could join us an hour late.”

“We just sat down,” Jane says, shooting Tony a glare that is totally ignored.

“Brother.”  Thor’s booming greeting alarms Loki.  Ellie can feel his body jump in fear and his heart rate pick up, but his face betrays nothing and no one seems to notice, with the exception of Eleanor.  “Here,” says the thunder god with a sweeping gesture.  “You may dine at my side once more.”

Loki shoots Ellie a glance and she stifles a sigh as Loki holds out the chair next to his brother, silently demanding Ellie sit.  The gesture makes Tony snicker, Darcy swoon, Steve huff, and Thor pout.  Natasha is her typical stoic and scary self.

Ellie is already exhausted.

Loki has no choice but to sit next to Steve, but it hardly matters because there is no one here Loki wants to be near, including Ellie.  There are a couple very tense moments of silence, but then Darcy starts chatting with Jane, Tony says something to Steve, and Eleanor relaxes slightly.

“How do you find your new home, Loki?” Thor asks as conversation continues around them.  His uses a tone one would use to address a child and Ellie feels Loki bristle.  To get a good look at Loki, Thor leans close to Ellie, draping his arm over the back of her chair.

Loki does not respond to the question but glares at Thor’s offending arm with an intensity that could melt steel.  Ellie is going to need to explain some pretty obvious things Thor seems totally oblivious to.  He still doesn’t see the intensity of Loki’s jealousy.

“Brother?” Thor pushes, blinking with confusion and hurt. 

“Oh, he thinks it’s a hovel,” Ellie replies, finding the tension unbearable, “but he loves the music room.”

Loki doesn’t look away from the arm on Ellie’s chair, but his glare softens fractionally.

“Hey, we’ve worked hard on that hovel,” Steve says, failing to sound good-natured. His tone is proprietary and Loki has something new at which to glare. 

“But it’s tiny,” Ellie says, trying to salvage the situation.  Thor finally takes his arm off the back of her chair.

“I never minded,” continues Steve. The aggression he’s displaying seems so out of character.  Ellie thought she did a good job killing his little crush, but this conversation indicates otherwise.  “How’s my cot treating you?”

The question is extremely odd and all conversation dies out to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the table.

Loki doesn’t respond – he seems determined to ignore them all – but a wicked smile stretches across his face.  With deliberate slowness and drama, Loki reaches out to place a hand on Ellie’s knee.  Steve has a perfect view to watch Loki drag his hand up her thigh. 

She tries not to let it affect her, knows that this is all a game to taunt Steve, but her body reacts anyway. It is a great struggle to keep from wiggling close like the shameless hussy she is. 

When Loki’s hand starts to move inward, Ellie laces her fingers through his.  She shakes her head in silent disapproval and he rolls his eyes.

The first course is served, preventing anyone from replying, but Loki doesn’t let go of her hand.

* * *

 

“I’m stuffed,” declares Darcy, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh.  She opens one eye to ogle Ellie’s half-eaten chocolate lava cake.  “You gonna eat that?” she asks.

Chuckling, Ellie hands over the desert.  Now that dinner is over and Loki no longer needs his hand to poke at his food, it is once more resting on Ellie’s thigh.  She is unsure if the contact is from a desire to touch her or if he’s still trying to fuck with Steve, but she’s had four glasses of wine and he is drawing slow, steady circles on her skin with his thumb, so she can’t bring herself to care.

“The meat was most satisfactory, Man of Iron,” Thor decides, patting his belly.  “Did you slay this beast yourself?”

Loki sighs, but no one notices.

“Sure,” answers Tony.  “Here on Midgard I am known as a great bovine slayer.”

“He’s teasing, honey,” Jane says softly.  “It’s like at the grocery store.  Remember?  We’ve talked about this.”

Loki rolls his eyes and gives Eleanor a significant look.  She nods in understanding, as ready to go home as he is.  She is about to stand and start the whole goodbye process when Tony speaks.

“So did Commander Tate order you to be silent or what, Reindeer Games?”

Not one word has passed Loki’s lips since their arrival, and now he slowly looks up from his lap as if he is unsure if he’s being addressed at all. 

“Yeah, I’m talking to you there, Frosty.  What gives?  The whole point of this night was to get to know the megalomaniac under the direct control of our Ellie,” Tony says.

“Bullshit,” Ellie declares, scowling at her employer. 

Tony chuckles.  “Such a smarty pants, Madonna.  Except for the taking you on thing.  Still trying to figure this little bit of lunacy out.”

“As am I,” Loki murmurs.

Everyone is shocked to hear his voice and Ellie gives him a sad smile. 

“Can she really make you do anything?” Darcy asks as if the question has been on the verge of exploding out of her all evening.  “Like, _anything_?”  She waggles her eyebrows. 

It is now Loki that is shocked to be addressed with enthusiasm rather than hatred, and he turns to Eleanor for help.  She is not amused.

“I’ve given my one and only command, thank you,” she replies primly.

“Boo, you whore,” Darcy replies. 

Loki stands up so fast his chair topples to the floor.  He glares at Darcy, who lets out a little squeak of fear. 

Natalie, Steve, and Thor all jump to their feet as well.  The assassin has a gun trained on Loki’s forehead while Thor’s arm is extended, ready to summon his hammer while Steve shields Darcy with his body.

Eleanor looks at Loki, watching her command at work.  His body is frozen and he grimaces as he fights against invisible bonds.  It is exactly as it was on Asgard when she finally screamed at him to stop.

Tony remains seated.  He nods as he watches Loki, and Ellie understands the whole point of this ridiculous evening.  Iron Man wanted proof of magic and now he’s got it.

“Wouldn’t this guy make an excellent ballerina?” Tony asks.

Ellie drags Loki out of the room.

* * *

 

“You are angry,” Loki observes when they arrive home after a very silent and tense car ride.  “Because your acquaintances are fools, no doubt.”

Ellie gives him a withering glare. 

“I am incorrect,” he muses, actually stroking his chin.  “Before my fall I was rarely incorrect.  My mind is very apparently not what it was but even in my usual intellectual state, I believe you would baffle me, Eleanor.”

She rolls her eyes before stomping off to the bathroom and slamming the door in his annoyingly perfect face. 

A moment alone.  Her task will be less daunting after a moment alone.  Her cheeks are heated, a combination of wine and rage.  She splashes cool water on her face and tries to calm down.

“You are totally in over your head,” she says to her reflection. 

There is a brisk knock on the door.  The knob turns, but she had the foresight to throw the lock.  His inability to give her a moment has her anger returning full force.

“Surely this tantrum is not a response to my actions,” he calls through the door.  “I have done nothing to cause such an undignified tizzy.”

At her wits end, Ellie throws open the door.

“You wanted to hurt Darcy!” she says, scowling up at him and hands fisting at her sides.  She knows that this should not come as a surprise.  Hurting people is what Loki does and nothing really has changed, but she’s furious anyway.  “My command was the only thing that kept the whole dinner from turning into a brawl.”

Loki frowns and leans against the doorframe, studying his left hand.  It is always the left hands.

“Yes,” he agrees. 

“And you don’t get why I’m mad?”

“I find your anger misplaced.”

“Oh no,” she replies, shaking her head.  “I’m pretty clear on the direction of my anger.  You almost hurt Darcy.”

“A punishment to fit the crime,” he says.  The cruel grin on his face makes her skin crawl. 

“What were you going to do?” Ellie demands.  She feels cornered in their tiny bathroom but despite his casual stance there is fire in Loki’s eyes and she doesn’t dare get close to him, even to escape.  “Stone her?  Send her to a brothel?  Brainwash her into actually becoming a whore?”

He hisses at the word.

“Does the word really offend you so much?” she asks. “Damn, the God of Lies is quite the feminist.”

Except back at Stark Tower he definitely called her a whore.  Maybe this is exactly why the word offends him so much now.

“The term does not offend me when accurately applied,” he murmurs, staring at the floor like a scolded child.  Ellie tries and fails to hold onto her mad as she feels the anger drain out of her. 

Given her history, whore is something she’s been called a lot, right along with slut, but she’s always had to defend herself from such attacks.  Although misguided, Loki’s intention here was somewhat gallant.  No one has ever defended her honor before, and Ellie is a little shocked that Loki of all people is doing so now.

“Loki,” she says quietly, approaching him.  She fiddles with the tie of his tunic as she forces him to meet her gaze.  “Darcy wasn’t really calling me a whore.”  He flinches and scowls at her.  “It’s a quote from a movie and just the way Darcy talks.  She doesn’t think I’m a wh—  She doesn’t think I’m like that.”

“A meaningless distinction, I assure you.”

She cracks a smile.  “Not to me and not to Darcy.”

Even his snort of disgust is elegant.

“And even if she meant it, even if she called me the most horrible and vile and offensive names imaginable, you can’t try to attack people like that,” Ellie continues.

Loki scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest.  “Who are you to attempt to instruct a god?”

She doesn’t even bother to answer this ridiculous question and instead pushes on in the same quiet tone. 

“If there is some loophole you discover or the command doesn’t hold and you hurt someone, then Odin is going to take you away,” she says.  Loki opens his mouth but Ellie holds up a hand and keeps talking.  Miraculously, he lets her finish.  “You know he can, Loki.  Even when you get your magic back, you know he’ll be able to do it, as long as we have this freaking bond thing going.  And then you’ll be all alone for a century.”

“A blessing for you, truly,” he mutters.

“No,” she insists.  “I would never be alright again.”

Ellie is embarrassed now by this unpleasant and inexplicable truth.  She studies her feet.

“Why?”  His question is a strangled whisper.

“I wish I knew,” Ellie replies, shrugging.  It’s a fight to keep from crying.  “But you feel it too.  Beyond this crazy mystical connection, you feel it too.  You wouldn’t be okay if something like that happened to me either.”

He is quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, Ellie is relieved to hear his light and teasing tone.

“Well, I do not feel the urge to slaughter you in your sleep, if that is what you mean to say.  And you’re the least vexing Midgardian I have yet to encounter.  In summary, I find your presence tolerable.”

Ellie grins.  “Tolerable, huh?”

Loki nods.

“Lies,” she insists, making him smirk.  “You like me.”

“A preposterous notion.”

“You like me.”  Her voice is singsong now as she beams up at him. 

He scoffs.

“You _really_ like me.  I’m your best friend in all the twenty-seven realms.”

“Nine,” he corrects.  “And I revise my previous statement.  You are in fact the most annoying on Midgard and I find your presence decidedly intolerable.”

“You like me,” she says. “But please, please don’t try to hurt anyone.”

“No.”

Eleanor blinks.

He is calm and sane.  Somehow this is so much worse than the panicked, heart wrenching fit he had on Asgard when he finally understood the reality of their situation. 

“No?” she repeats.

“I will never stop fighting this, Eleanor,” he says.  “This power you wield is misplaced and will not stand.  Despite my great lapses in sanity, I will never passively accept the control you have over me.  Never again will I play the pawn to any.  Not to the Allfather.  Not to the titan.  And not to you.”

The words hang heavy between them as they stand together in the doorway to the bathroom.  Suddenly her actions on Asgard feel so very selfish because this power dynamic is something he will never be able to accept.

She thinks of Jane’s advice.

“Okay,” Ellie manages, frustrated by the hitch in her voice and the tears in her eyes.  “You’re not my pawn.  Not at all, but okay.  Odin always thought I would give up anyway, but if you want to call it than I’ll let you.  We’ll go back to Asgard.  We’ll undo the bond, but you have to give me two weeks first.”

“Two weeks?”

“Fourteen days where you try to heal.  Fourteen days, and then you can choose to leave me.”

“You could do anything you like to me in fourteen days,” he says, picking at his hand again.  “In fourteen days you could easily extract your vengeance.”

Eleanor takes his hand – the left one – and traces his knuckles with her thumb.  “In fourteen days I’ll prove to you that it’s not about vengeance.”

“Do I have the option to refuse?”

“After everything, you can’t give me fourteen days?” she mutters, pouting at him.

He sighs heavily but reaches out to play with a lock of her hair.

“Fine.  I graciously accept.”


	23. The Plan

Loki sleeps.

Ellie works from home to give him some peace and tries not to be annoyed when Jane and Darcy call every half hour to check in.  They are skeptical when she tells them just how much Loki sleeps.

Which is a fuck ton.

“It seems like he didn’t rest at all the whole time he was locked up,” Ellie explains.  “He looks so tired.”

“Just be careful, Ellie,” Jane says at the end of each brief conversation.  “Don’t let your guard down and don’t trust him.”

Eleanor is not stupid enough to trust him, but she does trust Odin’s super freaky magic.  At this point it hardly seems to matter.  Loki sleeps.

On rare occasions that he emerges from the bedroom, he is extremely jumpy.  Loud noises and sudden movements have him quaking in fear and Ellie learns very quickly to always, _always_ make her presence known.

It’s apparent now that his behavior in the presence of the Avengers was performance only.  She remains amazed that he was able to hold it together so effectively for the benefit of his enemies, but now that it’s just her and him, the extent of his mental scars become clear.

_Teeth rotting from his skull.  Skin flayed from his bone._

Here with her, Loki lets himself rest, for maybe the first time in years.

Still, his nightmares are horrible and Ellie finds herself gently shaking him from sleep at all hours of the day when his whimpering and thrashing becomes too much to bear.  Loki pushes his chest into hers, relearning how to take calm, deep breaths.

He has an extreme aversion to touch when she initiates the contact, but he seems to be constantly reaching for her, both in sleep and while awake.  He seems desperate for basic physical connection and touching her has the potential to bring him both clarity and peace.

Somehow she refrains from pointing this out as the most compelling reason why willingly going through a century alone is fucking stupid.  She doesn’t talk about it.  Bringing it up seems like the quickest way to alienate him.  The last thing she needs is for Loki’s stubborn streak to kick in.

Eleanor learns to let him come to her or she loudly announces her intention to hold his hand or brush his hair, not making any movements without his permission.

Despite all the sleep, Loki still appears mentally drained.  Where he was once so careful and precise with his appearance, now he only wears whatever she puts in front of him.  He only changes when Ellie reminds him to shower and even now she has to lie out clean outfits.  His hair is left free of style.  It takes Ellie some time to get used to his unruly, long-ass mess, but at least he keeps it clean and allows her to brush it regularly.  Usually she ties it back.

Food holds no interest for Loki, but he develops a fascination with watching her cook.  Recently, Ellie’s been working hard to get herself healthy, something she tries to pass on to the gaunt god.  Unfortunately, Loki’s interest in observing meal preparation does not transfer to actual eating.  He always sits with her, but only takes a few bites.  She badgers him until he growls out “is this a command?”

That always serves to shut her right up.

The one exception to Loki’s food aversion is ice cream.  The dude loves the stuff.  It turns his lips bright blue, a fact Ellie keeps to herself understanding full well that this side effect would cause him to shun the frozen treat forever.

For seven of the fourteen allotted days, Eleanor and Loki rarely leave the house, but everyday he spends less time lost in his head. His desperate pleas for her to affirm that this is real, that they are real and in New Mexico, get less frequent.

She thinks of a way to convince him to stay, but decides if the very obvious progress he has made towards healing in only seven days is not enough to convince him to stay, then nothing will.

But then he stops speaking, for no apparent reason at all.  She lets him be, but carefully watches his face and gaging his moods, trying to determine if this is a reflective healing kind of silence or a quiet indicative of something far more sinister.

On the eighth night, he shakes his head furiously when she tries to play the guitar and drags her over to the piano. 

It’s enough for now.

* * *

 

“What is your game, mortal?”

In her shock Eleanor sloshes a glass filled with juice of the orange all over her shirt.  It’s been two days since Loki uttered a word and nine since she told him to wait fourteen before deciding to endure a century of solitude rather than allow this humiliating power dynamic to stand.

The shack she calls home has been quiet and still, Eleanor’s music the only exception to the tranquility.  He did not speak, nor did Eleanor force his words.  She saw no need to ruin the peace with pointless yammering and Loki appreciates her penchant for silence a new.

But today – day nine of fourteen – Loki’s mind is the clearest it been in ages, perhaps even since before his fall, and he will have his answers.

“Shit,” Eleanor mutters, frowning down at the sticky stain marring the overly large male garment she favors for sleep.  She retreats into the room they will share for only five more days, pulling the shirt over her head as she crosses the threshold, giving Loki a far too quick view at her bare back and legs.  The underwear clothing her posterior is so small Loki questions its purpose. 

But the clothing is also green and Loki’s head fogs for an entirely different reason than his usual insanity.

He is mentally recounting their last few days in the bunker together in vivid detail when she joins him on the couch, unfortunately covered now.

“My game is monopoly,” she says, staring at the portable computer on her lap.  Loki blinks at her as she pushes her black framed glasses up her nose.

“Pardon?” he asks, worried that he’s slipping back to auditory insanity.

“You asked my game.  It’s Monopoly.  I win every time.”

“Monopoly?”

“Yeah, it’s a board game.”

Loki scowls at the woman at his side.  She clacks away on the keyboard, the little “ping” sound indicating that she is communicating instantly with the chatty buxom one or Thor’s Whore.

“I was not referring to board games,” Loki says through a clenched jaw.  Eleanor is being deliberately obtuse and even worse, he is garnering the smallest fraction of her attention.  “Eleanor.”

“Hum?”  She smiles at her screen.  Loki wonders if the man out of time mastered such modern technology solely to converse with Eleanor.

“I was not referring to a board game.”

“I know.” She doesn’t even glance at him.

“Eleanor!”

“What?”  Not so much as a flinch.

Growling out his frustration, Loki snaps the device shut on her lap and tosses it on the ground.  Although she does not respond verbally, her full – and angry – attention is on him now.  Behind those glass lenses her eyes are narrowed.  She purses her lips, a silent demand for him to explain his admittedly childish behavior.

The muscles in Loki’s face twitch strangely and it takes him a moment to understand that his lips have pulled into a truly genuine smile.  The movement is unpracticed and something about his expression has the anger melting out of Eleanor.

“Wow,” she murmurs.

“What?” He is scowling and suspicious once more.  She shakes her head.  “Tell me.”

“Do you have any idea how attractive you are?” she asks, sounding somewhat annoyed.  “You are seriously, _ridiculously_ gorgeous.”

Loki’s face feels hot.

“I seem to have forgotten my original inquiry,” he confesses.  

The mental lapse is frightening and frustrating.  He struggles to lift his hands, desperate to pound some normality and intelligence back into his mind.  Striking his cursed head would be a relief, but he is unable to lift his hands.  It feels as though his arms are no longer connected to his body.  The limbs are beyond his control. 

This is Eleanor’s doing and Loki lurches to his feet, remembering what he sought to do when he opened his mouth for the first time in two days.

“Your game! Why do this to me?” he demands.

Eleanor sighs and removes her glasses.  “Do we really need to go through this again?” she asks.

“You will do as I say,” he snaps, wishing it were so.  “And I will continue to require this of you until you no longer lie!”

Eleanor sighs again.  “I didn’t lie.  The thought of you alone for a hundred years hurt me,” she says.  Loki suddenly remembers similarly false confessions over these last nine days.

“You pity me.”

“No.”  She is vehement now, getting to her feet.  “I don’t do pity.  I would have drown in self pity a long time ago if I did.  This is empathy, Loki, because I was just where you are.  My mind was once a fucking war zone and solitary confinement leads to insanity.  You deserve a chance.  Why can’t you just try to take it?”

He knows not what to think.  Eleanor appears so very honest, but he no longer trusts his own judgment in this and the notion that Eleanor could do something so selfless as to burden herself with this arrangement out of a sense of empathy and shared experience is unfathomable.

More likely she is simply attempting to make him care before forcing command after command upon him.  It is the perfect vengeance.

“Can I touch your hand?  I’d really like to touch your hand, please,” she murmurs.

Loki nods, allowing Eleanor to step closer and lace their fingers together. 

“Look, we have five days until you can decide to leave.  Instead of focusing on me and the whole principal of this power dynamic maybe work on getting your mind right,” she says. 

“You cannot command my thoughts.”  Perhaps if she could there would be no more madness.

“It’s a suggestion,” she says, resting her head on his chest, closing her eyes.  “Do you feel better than you did alone in your cell?”

The answer is undoubtedly yes, but he cannot give her the satisfaction of being right. 

Perhaps instead he will spend the next five days buried inside Eleanor, losing himself in her heat.  The idea is intriguing, but Loki rejects it almost immediately.  He will create no further ties with the songbird and it would be so very easy to develop an addiction to intercourse with such an enchanting, enthusiastic, talented creature.

But she is so very warm and so very close.  He skims a fingertip down her neck, sliding along the line of her revealing shirt.  Bumps of flesh erupt in the wake of his touch and Eleanor shivers, tilting her face towards his.  He caresses her collarbone before resting a palm over her heart.  It beats wildly in her chest, a bird trying to escape or perhaps a song written for him alone by her body and her breath.

Really, she is stunning, despite her short stature – or maybe because of it – and her incessantly irritating force of will – or maybe because of that too. 

He cradles her jaw with his spare hand and Eleanor blushes.  The flush is rare for his songbird and very becoming.  Surely, there is no harm in enjoying Eleanor while he’s here.

The shrieking emanating from the pocket of her trousers serves to jar him from the moment and Eleanor pouts as he drops his hand.  She holds his gaze still as she answers the call.

“What?” she snaps.

“You’re offline.”  He can hear the voice of the buxom brunette through the speaker.  It makes Loki wince.  “We were IMing and then you just disappeared!  Did he hurt you?  What happened?”

“Calm down, Darcy,” says Eleanor, rolling her eyes.  “I’m fine.”

“Who just goes offline in the middle of a conversation?”

Eleanor glares at Loki.  “Technical difficulties.”

“Yeah, right.  I don’t like you working from home.  You need to be here where we can keep an eye on him.”

Eleanor sighs heavily and Loki’s had enough.  He plucks the cellular device from her ear. 

“You are a miserable little fool to want me near,” he snarls.  “It is not Eleanor that is in danger, but you, Darcy Lewis.  Command or no, I will make it my sole mission to bring you pain and suffering if you continue to annoy my lady.  I have my words still, and I will not hesitate to constantly affirm your every insecurity, you mewling—“

“Okay,” Eleanor interrupts sticking a hand out for the phone.  He hands it over willingly, pleased with his speech.  As Eleanor moves away to sooth the buxom brunette he smiles because this is evidence of his returning mental faculties. 

Eleanor is correct.  This environment is conducive to healing his mind and it would be exceedingly foolish to allow his pride to influence the decision he will make in five days time. 

Again, Eleanor’s wisdom is irksome, but she is right in that he must focus on righting his mind and finding his magic. 

How did he fail to see this previously?

Continuing on this path will lead to the return of his magic.  It never left him truly, but it is concentrated in his head, beyond his reach. 

No, he will covet its return for it is only with his magic that he will be able to escape the Isle of Solitude. 

For the first time in months, Loki plots.

He will stay with Eleanor, developing no further ties with the songbird, until he is healed.  With his magic he will return to Asgard, willingly turning himself over to Odin’s original punishment.  He is confident in his ability to combat any magic that would hold him there.  Upon his escape he will steal Eleanor away from this dreary realm because he would rather not be parted from her, but breaking the bond is the only way he can see to prevent her from taking her revenge.

Free from Odin, free of their bond, Loki will keep Eleanor hidden and safe.

It is a comfort to know that the power she holds is temporary.

“What’s going on in that head there, Mr. Smiley?” Eleanor is seated at the counter in the kitchen, computer open in front of her.

“I found scolding your companion to be immensely satisfying,” he replies, grinning. 

Eleanor rolls her eyes and returns to her work, none the wiser to all the changes he just made to her future.

* * *

 

The frowning songbird awakes him.

There is laughter in his head and panic in his chest.  The dream was so vivid he relives it still even as Eleanor fills his vision.

The titan is mocking him, claiming that Eleanor Tate is nothing but a fantasy created by his captors to torment him further.  It is all a delusion, from their meeting to the moment she brought him back to Midgard. 

He never went back to Midgard, never went back to Asgard, for it was the Other that found him beaten on the floor of the top of the Man of Iron’s tower.

The Mad Titan says that Loki’s been in the Void since that time, that he will never leave again and that Eleanor Tate never so much as existed.

But she feels real as she gently shakes his shoulder, pushing his sweat soaked hair off his forehead.  Her lips move, but there is laughter in his head and he cannot hear her words. 

She isn’t real.  She never was. 

The thought is exceedingly painful but Loki decides in a moment of sudden clarity that it matters not.  If Eleanor is not real, he will live in this delusion.  He will choose this possibly false world with Eleanor over the crueler reality of the Void.

“Dream.”  He hears Eleanor speak as the laughter fades.  “Loki, it was just a dream.  You are safe.”

Loki sits up against the headboard, pulling her into his lap.  Pressing their chests together, he matches her breathing.  She is panicky at first, but when she understands his need she takes deep, even breaths. 

They sit together, propped up against the headboard, for an exceptionally long time, until Loki’s chest is free of panic and his mind is free of laughter.  The terror of the dream lingers, but Eleanor feels solid and real against him in a way the titan did not.

Loki’s made his choice and this will be his reality. 

Eleanor sings softly in his ear, blessing him with his favorite sounds, but something is not right.  Before closing his eyes to sleep on this night, Loki determined something important, something now forgotten.

Once more Loki had purpose, had goals, had direction, but in the few hours of sleep it all slipped through the holes riddling his head.  Once the source of pride and strength, his mind is now more sieve than anything.

“What happens in five days time?” he asks into her hair.  The answer seems important, but the question makes Eleanor tense in his arms.

“In five days you will have been with me for two weeks and I promised that after two weeks I would have the Allfather undo the bond between us and send you off to spend a century all by yourself, if that’s what you decide.”

Ah, there is it.  His plan, his reason.

“I require parchment,” he says, desperate to retain this knowledge now that he’s found it once more.  “And a writing utensil.”

Eleanor gives him a concerned look but slips out of bed and out of the room without comment, returning a moment later with paper and pen.  Loki takes the offered supplies and is momentarily overcome by a profound ache for Asgard.  He longs for the smell of soft parchment and the feel of a quill between his fingers.

Silly, for such a small thing to trigger such disgusting sentiment.  Stupid, to long for a home that never truly existed.

“Loki?”  Eleanor’s hand is on his shoulder.  Loki forces the feelings to dissipate and puts pen to paper as Eleanor turns on a light.  Writing in a language foreign to Eleanor, he outlines his plan in a script messy from disuse.

Firstly, he will ignore Eleanor’s unacceptable power as he strives to regain his mind and magic.  He will not allow her to take her vengeance.  Then he will have Eleanor break this bond and retreat to the Isle of Solitude.  Next he will escape the Isle of Solitude.  And lastly he will collect his lady, spiriting her away to somewhere safe and hidden and for Loki only.

With her striped of this control and on another realm, she will be unable to hurt him.

Offering no explanation to the ever-concerned Ms. Tate, he neatly folds his paper and places it under his pillow as he attempts to sleep once more.

* * *

 

“It’s been two weeks,” Eleanor says. 

Sunlight flows through an open window in the kitchen, making her hair glow.  Her beauty wins out over her words for a moment and Loki can do nothing but watch her.

“Loki?  You listening?”

He shakes his head and studies her collection of Midgardian literature.  His goal for the day is to read a book.  It has been far too long, even if the writing of mortals is akin to reading stories designed for Asgardian children.  He selects one at random and sits on her sofa.

Eleanor joins him after a moment, handing over a plastic cup filled with tea on ice, his preferred morning beverage.

“Let me see.”  Eleanor nods to the book in his lap as she cradles a scalding hot mug between her palms.  “ _Written on the Body_ ,” she reads, grinning.

“Is it bad?” he asks.

“No,” Eleanor smiles like she has a secret.  “It’s good.  It’s been two weeks.”

Loki fingers the neatly folded piece of paper in his pocket.  It is a landmark, a reminder. 

“Do you have a decision you want to fill me in on?” she asks.  There is a quiver in her voice and it is not like Eleanor to push him into speaking.

“No,” he murmurs, longing for the ability to skim her thoughts. 

“ _Loki_.”  She is begging.  “Are you leaving me or not?”

He would never willing leave her, not permanently, but admitting so now feels like defeat.

“I will stay here,” he says.  “For now.”

“For now?”

“I reserve the right to take up my original punishment at anytime.”

“Really?”  Eleanor is beaming and enchanting and _happy_.  Suddenly there is little Loki would not do to put such a radiant smile on her equally radiant face at as great a frequency as possible. 

Still, this newfound desire does not extend to staying under her control for a moment longer than necessary.  He reminds himself that this to is surely just another way for her to increase his need for her, only to turn hateful on him to extract her revenge.

This truth is difficult to recall when she smiles in such a way.

“Indeed,” he manages. 

With slow, precise movements Eleanor stands and then leans close.  The intrusion into his personal space does not make him flinch away and there is no fear of violence from her approach.  He fingers the paper in his pocket that holds his plan and Eleanor traces his jaw.

“Good,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this my reward for the behavior you desire?” Cynicism and cruelty are his only tools to combat the threat Eleanor possesses.  She is dangerous in that she sways and manipulates him with ease while his dependence grows daily.

“This is genuine affection, my silly god.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and she kisses that too.

“I will allow you to command kisses of me in an exchange for a withdraw of the previous command,” Loki says, smirking.

Eleanor rolls her eyes and straightens.

“Read your book,” she murmurs.  “I’ve got work to do.”

 

 


	24. Back in the World

When Ellie emerges from the bathroom, clothed and ready for the day, she is met with the sight of Loki staring intently at his clothes hanging in the closet.

“Good morning,” she says, mostly just to alert him to her presence.  He jumps slightly but otherwise does not move.  The hesitation he is displaying is making her rethink her plan for the day.  “Do you need a little help?”

“How many times must I tell you that I do not require your assistance, Eleanor?”  His words lack bite, as if they are something he knows he should say but he doesn’t know why.

Still, he grabs his usual selection of black leather pants and a green velvet shirt with gold piping, the only Asgardian clothes he has here.  He turns to study her, eyes narrowing when he takes in her outfit of tiny jean shorts and black tank top. 

“You expose far too much skin,” he complains.

“It’s hot out.”

“Weather is no excuse for indecency.”

With a heavy sigh, Ellie pulls her arms into a thin grey cardigan as Loki gets dressed. 

“Happy?” she asks.

“Never,” he replies, breaking her heart a little.

In the month since she brought Loki back here they have been bound to the house, leaving only on the occasion Eleanor needs to pick up something from the lab or when she manages to cajole him into a walk around the property.  Darcy and Jane – escorted by Thor and Steve – even deliver their groceries. 

It’s making Ellie batty. 

Although she has doubts about his ability to sit through a day in the lab, she needs to get back to her life.  They can’t stay in the cottage forever.

Loki follows close behind her as she moves into the family room.  He grunts in approval as she selects several books off the shelf, shoving them into her oversized purse.

When they get in her jeep, Loki rests his hand on her bare thigh.

“They’re all back in town, you know,” she says as she drives.  “I don’t think they’ll all be at the lab, but they are around.  Felt the need to be here for your coming out party.”

Loki says nothing, but she can see the tension in his jaw.

* * *

 

Ellie should not be surprised to see two SHIELD agents stationed on either side of the entrance to the donut shaped laboratory, but she is.  Loki bristles and takes her hand as she swipes her ID card and the glass doors slide open.  The guards stop them immediately, one coming at Loki with a metal detecting baton. 

The God of Mischief progresses to totally freak out, his body reacting violently to the perceived threat.  Outwardly he is unreadable, but through their magical bond Ellie feels his rising panic.

“Do not!” he hisses, as commanding as he was in front of a kneeling crowd in Germany.  Despite his anxiety, Loki pulls Ellie behind him as if to protect her.  His body keeps on shaking and his grip on her arm is painful as he backs them away from the approaching guard.

“If you have nothing to hide then this shouldn’t be a problem,” says Commando One, brandishing the baton like a weapon and making Loki’s insides quake.  The other SHIELD guard looks like he’s about a second from drawing his gun as Ellie searches for a way to defuse the situation.

Loki could easily lash out in fear and that just might be considered self-defense.  If he starts attacking people, Fury will lock them both up for years and years.

“Back off,” Ellie says, moving to step in front of Loki.  She nods at him to let her go and she takes in the wild terror in his green eyes.  His hand drops from her arm, but his limbs keep shaking.

“Miss Tate, we have to—“

“Give me that,” she demands, grabbing the handheld metal detector.  In his surprise Commando One actually lets go.  “I can’t have anyone touching my man.  My botwhatever guy.  My dude-person dude.”

She tried to make a joke out of it, to make it about her rather than about Loki, but she fails somewhat miserably.

“We really need to follow procedure here,” snaps Commando Two.

Ellie ignores him too.

“Arms out, Loki,” she says quietly, turning back to the internally cowering, confused god.  She is stunned to see that he trusts her enough to do as she says.  “I’m just going to wave this around you.”

As she runs the detector close to his body, Loki never takes his eyes off the agents.  Nothing beeps.

“Happy?” she asks, tossing the stick back at Commando One when she completes her task. 

“We need to search your bag.”  Ellie hands over her bag.  “And he needs a pat down.”

“No,” Ellie says simply.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No,” Ellie repeats, drawing out the syllable as if she’s addressing a complete moron.  “I’m the only one that gets to do that.”

“Miss Tate—“

“Enough!”  Thor’s voice booms from the depths of the lab, making the commandos shut up and Loki jump.

“But—“

“Let them pass.”  The thunder god talks like the future king of Asgard and the commandos step aside. 

Ellie gives Commando One a wicked smile as they pass, once more taking Loki’s hand and shouldering her bag.

There are three more commando guards stationed around the wide, bright room, and the tension in Loki is painful.  Eleanor can feel it as if it were her own.  The physical awareness of their connection seems to be fading, but Ellie can still feel what he does in times of extreme distress.

Jane, Darcy, and Thor are all gathered in the kitchen area, coffee mugs in hand.  Jane looks nervous.  Darcy looks excited.  Thor looks stern.

“Morning,” Ellie greets as she leads Loki to her desk.  His gaze darts nervously from the commandos to his brother, ready to fight or take flight.

The trio in the kitchen returns her greeting, but they are obviously distracted, and Ellie dumps her heavy bag on her desk.  Loki sinks into her chair as if his legs will no longer support him.  Ellie turns to move to the kitchen, but Loki holds firm, wrapping a strong arm around her waist.

He glares intently at the nearest guard and Ellie finds his protectiveness sweet.  Making sure he clearly sees the movement of her hand, she reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear.  She drops a kiss on his temple and removes his arm from her waist.

“Do you want some coffee?” she asks. 

He shakes his head and reluctantly lets Eleanor leave his side.

“I’ll bring tea tomorrow,” she promises as she joins the girls and the golden god.  “No one here drinks it.”

Ellie selects a mug and catches up with her bosses.  Jane hands over a giant stack of notes to be transcribed and Darcy gets nosey.  Thor glares at his brother.  After a few moments of chitchat, she moves back to Loki, dragging a spare chair behind her.  She gets settled and Loki remains silent as he selects a book from Ellie’s bag.  Thor glares some more.

Cap joins them for lunch and then loiters around Ellie’s desk, making conversation but really just watching Loki who once more touches Ellie in a way to upset Steve.  Sitting as close to Ellie as possible, Loki slips his fingers under the waistband of her shorts to grip her hip and pretends to innocently read his book.

Steve leaves not long after and Ellie sees that her life has become a very strange sort of dance, balancing friends and her job and the God of Lies.

* * *

 

Every day the reality of the situation dawns on Ellie, but she doesn’t regret her decision once.  Every day he gets a little less fragile, but Ellie has no idea what to do besides let his mind heal. 

He is constantly surprised by the affection she shows him and he often relies on her to confirm that he is really here with her. 

“This is by far my most pleasing prison,” Loki tells her.  “A pleasing prison, but no less confining.”

Eleanor understands completely, given all the months he kept her confined.  When she reminds him of his former views on freedom and his former status as her prison guard, he blinks at her in confusion.

“I do not remember why I cared enough for this worthless realm to attempt to rule it at all,” he muses on a particularly strong day.  “The influence of the Tesseract at its height, I suppose.  Although my decision to keep your voice with me always is completely understandable.”

“That was not your decision to make,” she says.

“I am aware.”

This is not exactly progress, but at least his need for would domination seems to be behind him.

Every day he speaks to her a little more and whether he is complaining about life on Midgard or complimenting her after she sings, Ellie is equally pleased to hear his voice.

* * *

 

Loki lies on his back, under a large tree in the unnaturally lush courtyard that borders Eleanor’s place of employment.  The day is overcast, but still so hot. Loki’s blood seems to boil even in the shade, but resting in the grass is much preferable to the overcrowded laboratory. 

In the week since Eleanor forced him to venture forth from the relative safety and comfort of her pathetic excuse for a home, his false brother has been a constant presence, as have the stony faced soldiers of SHIELD and various other Avengers.  They watch Loki constantly and he knows the terror he feels down to his bones in their presence is unwarranted, but he cannot think his way out of the fear.

Eleanor’s touch is somewhat soothing, as it always has been, but today he could not abide their scrutiny and his deep shame when he inevitably jumps in terror at every movement of their muscles.

At least his fear is not apparent to his companions, save Eleanor but she does not mention it.

Eleanor says the Midgardians have a term for the turmoil currently plaguing his mind.  Post-traumatic stress disorder, she calls it.  She even provided literature on the subject, but it is most likely irrelevant to him as it was developed by simple-minded mortals, for simple-minded mortals and he refuses to read what was given.

This corruption in his mind should be intolerable and prevents him from reaching the next step of his plan, but thus far Loki has been far too weary to actively correct any flaws.  In his months beneath the golden palace, Loki came to truly loathe his own company and Eleanor provides a much needed relief.  He turns to her constantly for a distraction from his own horror-filled mind, and now that he must share her attentions with his enemies, he finds himself resenting the Avengers that much more.

Loki sits up, opening one eye to look through the windows to where Eleanor is perched at her workstation.  He gazes upon her back now, not only because her image is endlessly pleasing, but also to ensure that she remains unharmed.

Her so titled friends cannot be trusted with her safety, and the soldiers of SHIELD are to be downright feared. 

Loki leans back against the trunk of the elm and watches Ellie communicate with the dark-haired girl that speaks with alarming rapidity. It never fails to make Loki’s head throb.  He would like nothing more than to silence her permanently, but an attempt would do nothing but upset Eleanor.

It is somewhat shocking to realize that he has no desire to upset Eleanor.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Although he is loath to admit it, having her near is something of a revelation.  It has now been over one Midgardian year since she distracted him from spying on Tony Stark with that breath-stopping voice of hers and he took her for his own, but even after all this time she remains no less of an enigma than when he first happened upon her.

Now he has the sense to differentiate between the possibilities the Tesseract showed him and real, true memory.  There are two Eleanor’s, the one in his mind who he saw in the vision, the one who loves him, and the Eleanor here, who argues with him, who pushes him.

Who he will leave the moment his mind heals and his magic returns, before she can take her vengeance.

When he thinks of the immense power the true Eleanor holds over him, rage fills his chest while he simultaneously freezes with fear. 

The power she wields is humiliating and the simple fact that she dared agree to such a position of authority indicates his failure to break her will in the bunker.  Although it is yet another failure to add to the ever-growing list, Loki is glad if it now.

Try as he might, Loki is unable to harden his heart to the songbird.  His mind remains a confusing jumble of pain and sorrow, of crippling loneliness and all-consuming anger, but the real Eleanor is there for him, even if she does not love him like the false, dream version. 

Much of his time since the ridiculous “family dinner” has been spent desperately seeking an understanding of the true Eleanor’s motivation for bringing him here, for willingly binding her life to that of a monster.

He finds himself wanting Eleanor’s decision to be born of affection, the sort he experienced with dream Eleanor, but he knows the impossibility of this and curses his weakness for thinking on it at all.

The hours spent observing her lead to one possible answer. 

This is vengeance.

Loki kept her locked away in the ground.  Now it is Eleanor’s turn to play jailor and he hates her for it, hates himself for expecting anything else from the puny half mortal. 

Eleanor seems to spend the majority of the time attempting to lure him into a sense of false security.  Her attention and kindness will only make it that much more unbearable when she takes her vengeance through a series of humiliating commands.

Worst of all, she’s taken to asking his opinion rather than telling him what to do.  Most remarkably, thus far she has actually listened to his desires and council.  Rarely in his long life has anyone put much stock in his opinions. 

Thor rarely followed his clearly wiser advice nor did the bloodthirsty and ridiculous army of suicidal drones that were supposedly under his command during his attempted hostile take over, but Eleanor genuinely listens when he speaks.

He’ll miss the value she places on his words most of all when she turns hateful and extracts her revenge.  Each day it gets a little more difficult to imagine her as conniving and heatless as his false family or as cruel and malicious, like Loki himself.

He doesn’t want her to be like him.  He wants her to stay kind and understanding, but when revenge takes her this will be his doing as well. 

Thinking about Eleanor is still decidedly less terrible than thinking on the rest of it.

Although Eleanor’s presence drastically reduces his time spent away from reality, often he is back in the Void, his body crippled by mindless pain a new.  This proves true most especially during his hours spent asleep.

Loki lets his eyes fall closed, once more exhausted by the effort of simply existing, but the voice of the false brother has his eyes flying open once more.  Loki nearly jumps out of his skin, but he is otherwise able to hide his terror.

There was a time not so long ago when no creature could surprise the God of Mischief in such a fashion. 

“You fear me, Loki?” inquires the oaf.  He stands ten paces from Loki’s elm, arms crossed over his massive chest.  The golden god is frowning and somewhat angry.  He wears Midgardian attire.

Loki gives the false one a lazy smile, letting his head fall back against the wood. 

“No.”  The first word he’s given Thor since his arrival on Midgard with Eleanor is not even a lie.  Loki does not fear the god before him.  Even as his body screams, compelling him to flee, his mind knows that if Thor were to seek vengeance, he would have done so long before now.

“You are foolish, then,” Thor says.  “You have slighted me far too often to feel safe in my presence.”

“I assure you,” Loki drawls.  “I feel absolutely nothing in your presence.” 

This time his words are lie, but Thor’s wince brings Loki immense satisfaction.  Still, the desire to run far and swift does not leave him.

Thor seems to struggle to find the correct words, a frequent occurrence, and Loki closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to curl his body around Eleanor in their bed.

Her bed.  In _her_ bed.

“I have been gentle with you thus far,” Thor says, making Loki immediately bristle.  “Up until now, I’ve been gentle.  How could I not?  Given your state?  But you are much improved and your illness does not excuse your crimes.”

Loki glares with as much intensity as he can manages, given how his nerves still scream at him to flee.

“Nicholas Fury does not trust Lady Eleanor’s command to hold you,” he continues. “I am here to appease his fears but time will pass and I will return home.”

Something painful slices Loki’s stomach at the word _home_ , but he keeps his face mocking and amused and thoroughly without care. 

“You will be unable to hurt Jane, as Father’s magic is strong, but you know better than most that not all wounds are physical.  Lady Eleanor’s heart is involved and when you betray her, I will kill you,” Thor says, as serious as Loki’s ever seen hm.

His foolishness knows no bounds, it seems, and Loki closes his eyes again.  Eleanor’s heart is not involved.  Loki is pleased that Thor sighs and departs only moments later.

* * *

 

Another month passes and the panic around Loki’s appearance dies down. 

Loki proves to be such a boring subject that the Avengers lose interest.  Thor goes back to Asgard.  Natasha goes off on some mission, followed shortly by Tony.  Steve lingers, having nothing else to really do apparently, and Ellie fleetingly wonders where he’s been staying now that her spare cot is not an option.

Unlike the Avengers, Ellie is not fooled by Loki’s stillness and relative silence.  She learns to read his face and sees clearly how he struggles for sanity.  She can tell when he really is reading or when he simply stares at blankly at the page, consumed by murky memories and confusion.

During the daylight hours, Loki rarely gets swallowed up by the Void.  Eleanor sits close to him and holds his hand when the psychosis threatens to take him somewhere painful.  Usually he accepts her comfort.

For the first time in recent memory, Ellie wants another person to let her in. It’s extremely strange for Ellie, this desire to really know him and in turn let him really know her.

In some ways, her ever-growing attachment to the fallen prince is even more terrifying than her time spent as his prisoner.  Still, she tries very hard not to expect anything from him. 

For now he is safe and healing.  She gives him the best possible environment to find his mind, and it’s enough.

* * *

 

In her last lonely life as a struggling musician, totally cut off from everyone for eight years, Ellie did not own a TV. 

When she first started work on her cottage, she had no intention of purchasing one but then Tony showed up with a sleek flat screen and a stack of movies.  Ellie couldn’t find it in her to reject Iron Man’s house warming gift.

She’s glad for it now.

Some nights when Ellie can’t stand the silence and lacks the inspiration to play, she forces Loki to watch movies.  Usually, she puts in some classic recorded concert, but she likes old movies too.

Loki had no patience for _Some Like It Hot_ but he was totally enthralled by _The Godfather._

Tonight Ellie goes natural.

“You need to get over this ridiculous hate for my planet,” she says, handing over the ice cream before digging around in the couch for the remote.

“I do not hate this _realm_ , Eleanor,” he says, obviously annoyed.  “There is nothing here worthy of my attention what so ever.  On good days I find myself perfectly apathetic to this dull environment.  On bad it is grossly irritating.”

Ellie rolls her eyes but loves how much he’s talking tonight.  It feels like progress.

“You don’t know anything about this realm,” Ellie replies, emerging from the depths of the couch victorious, remote in hand.  “I’m going to educate you.  This is your home now.”

“Home?” he spits out, predictably outraged.  “I have no home.”

Eleanor is quiet for a moment, mulling over her response.  She turns slightly on the couch to look at him.  It’s difficult to keep from smiling at his blue lips, but the look on his face is akin to a lost little boy so that makes it easier.

“You know, at some point your homelessness stops being sad and it becomes a choice, Loki,” she murmurs, looking away.  “You choose your home.”

Once more he looks terrified.  She hates it when he looks terrified. 

“You’ve done an awful lot of personal growth in the last year,” he sys with a sneer.  Ellie hates that look on his face, too.  “Have you not, songbird?”

Ellie shrugs.

“I made a choice.”

“Because of my influence?”

Ellie’s a little surprised to hear him reference their past for the first time.  She wonders how much he even remembers.

“You certainly inspired me to change my life,” she agrees.  “You’re totally a cautionary tale.”

“Changed for the better?” he asks quietly.  She gives him a sad smile but he misses it because he’s busy avoiding her gaze.  The tub of Phish Food sits neglected in his lap as the blue color fades from his lips.

“For the better,” she decides.  “Much better.  I’m not so lonely anymore.  I talk to my sister now.  And Maureen.”

Loki scoffs.  “Only the weak experience this useless emotion.  I am not lonely.”

Ellie sighs and reaches out to rub his knee.  “Loki, sweetheart, like ninety-five of what you are is lonely.”

He stiffens and moves to get up, but Ellie pulls him back down to the couch.  Remarkably, he lets her. 

“We’re getting way off topic here,” she says.  “Just watch this with me.”

He sighs heavily but once more reaches for the ice cream.

“What dribble do you have for me today?” he asks, with an air of complete disinterest.  Instead of answering she powers up the Blu-ray.  “Planet Earth?” he sputters when the title menu appears.

“It’s a documentary.  You like learning.  It’s educational.”

Loki snorts.

“Just keep an open mind.”

He snorts again as Ellie selects the episode.  “We’ll watch the one on forests,” she decides.  “You’ll like all that green.”

Loki doesn’t complain through the entirety of the documentary.  She takes a chance and puts on Ice Worlds next.  He doesn’t complain during this one either.

* * *

 

“I do not see the point in all this,” he mutters as he stares out the vehicle’s windows at the barren landscape.  Even with the sun dipping past the western horizon, the heat is stifling.  Eleanor finds the color here beautiful.  All the red wears on Loki’s nerves.

“No complaining,” replies his songbird.  She sits at his side, between Loki and the ever-quixotic Captain of America.  Thor’s Whore drives the vehicle in a jarring manner, seated next to the dark haired twit.

Loki puts his lips to Eleanor’s ear, delighted to see the man out of time bristle.  This is one lesson Loki will gladly teach the fool repetitively.  It’s a pleasure to see his jealousy.

“Why must so many accompany us on this quest?” he whispers.  “It is private.”

Eleanor smiles as Loki’s arm comes around her waist.  In the cramped confines of the vehicle, his hand brushes the Captain’s thigh.  Loki can feel the disgust in the man’s body and he keeps his hand against Eleanor, constructing a barrier between her and the patriotic one.

“This experiment will lead only to useless information,” he continues.  Through their fading physical proof of their magical connection, he can feel her desire.  It makes him foolish.  He closes his eyes and smells her hair, well aware that every person in the car is deeply uncomfortable. 

“Hush,” Eleanor replies, her hand coming to rest on his thigh.  Her touch makes him forget that this is all just a game.  It makes him forget the plan that resides perpetually in his pocket.  She does not bother to whisper.  “You are as curious as I am.”

“Hardly,” he replies in her ear, talking just loudly enough for the Captain to overhear.  “I see no need to have any distance between you and I.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes. 

It is not long before they arrive in the flat open space distinguished by red dirt and twig-like plants.

They start out back to back, surrounded by their far too many observers, and then begin to walk away from each other, moving in a straight line.  Loki resists the urge to constantly glance over his shoulder as he takes measured paces.  It is not long before he slams into an invisible barrier.  It is as if he is once more behind glass walls and the thought makes him panic.  The force of it has him falling to his knees.

It hurts his veins, has them throbbing painfully, and he turns to see Eleanor lying flat on her back, groaning. Her companions applaud for no discernable reason.

“Don’t move!” shouts Thor’s Whore, running over to Loki with her little wheeled device that will calculate the distance between them.  He quells the instinct to run to the songbird.  She rolls onto her front to look at him as he struggles to his feet.

“That’s farther than I thought!” Ellie yells to Loki, making no move to get to her feet.  “That’s a least a football field, right Jane?”

Despite the distance, Loki can clearly hear her.  Jane Foster moves with the wheel on the stick that measures their every pace.  Once he is sure that she has a starting point he rushes to Eleanor’s side.

She grins up at him.  “That’s farther than I thought,” she repeats.

“Wow, you were right,” declares Jane Foster when she joins them.  Loki pulls Eleanor to her feet, watching as she brushes dirt from her dress. “That was pretty much exactly one hundred yards.”

“Good to know,” Eleanor replies, blushing slightly as Loki removes leaves and various debris from her golden locks.  “That fucking hurt.”

Loki sighs, but agrees with her statement nonetheless.

“Let’s not do that again,” she murmurs, turning to Loki.  He takes her hand in his and nods.

* * *

 

“Your companions have yet to remove their gazes from my person,” Loki says after plucking her headphone from her right ear.  She jumps, startled as ever by his sneaky ways.  In the last month the ability to feel every movement of his body has all but disappeared, but a shiver still goes up her spine as her body reacts to his proximity.

At his words Ellie glances up from the excel spreadsheet she’s spent the last hour fiddling with to the women supposedly working across the lab.  Steve set off on his motorcycle yesterday, leaving Jane, Darcy, and Ellie alone with Loki and only one silent SHIELD guard. 

 Under Ellie’s gaze, Jane and Darcy both do a bad job pretending to work, obviously uncomfortable to be caught staring.  Ellie rolls her eyes and turns her head to whisper back in Loki’s ear.  He’s caged her in with his body, leaning over her chair with his hands clutching the edge of her desk.

When did he leave the damn couch?

“They’re probably just waiting for you to lose your shit and start destroying the lab or murdering everyone,” she whispers, her nose skimming the sharp line of his cheekbone.  Loki smirks as he continues to observe Eleanor’s coworkers, obviously amused and enjoying their tension. 

“I am bored and irritated enough to instigate a quality rampage,” he says, raising his voice to further scare her bosses. 

“No rampaging,” she says.  “Behave yourself.  And don’t you ask me if that’s a command!” she says in a rush before he can ask.  “You know it isn’t.”

He scowls at her for a moment before leaning forward to squint at her computer screen.  She rests her head against his chest as his hand snakes down her arm, coming to rest over her hand on the mouse.

“Don’t mess anything up,” she murmurs as he scrolls through the spreadsheet she’s been organizing.   Loki doesn’t respond, but she can imagine him rolling his eyes.  “Save it, at least.”

“Your work is menial,” he says with distaste.  “Your time would be better spent with your instruments.”

“The quicker I get this done, the quicker we can go home to my instruments,” she points out as he continues to read.  She can feel the tension in his body against her back, a reaction to the word home.

“Does your feeble mind even comprehend the meaning behind these numbers?”

“Nope,” Ellie replies, popping her up.  “And that’s rude.”

“My deepest apologies,” he says, laying the sarcasm on heavy.  Ellie tilts her head to look up at him, watching his face as he scrolls through the data.  As he reads, his lips move, silently mouthing the words and numbers. 

Try as she might, she can’t stop thinking about those lips on hers.  Loki glances at her as if she’s totally lost her mind, a lovely expression given his current mental stability.  He raises a questioning eyebrow, and she can do nothing but shrug in response. 

Ellie goes back to watching him putter around on her computer, absorbing data and knowledge that remain foreign to her.  All the while he keeps her hand pinned to the mouse with his own.  Occasionally he jerks the cursor wildly, taking Ellie with him and making her giggle. 

Jane stares at them with wide eyes.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” Ellie says, pouting as she attempts to reclaim control of the mouse.  Loki shows no sign of letting go.

“You really don’t have access to that, Loki,” snaps Jane, sounding much braver than expected.  “Unless you want a job helping with the Bifrost.”

“A job?” demands Loki, completely incredulous.

“A job!” squeaks Ellie, overjoyed.

“Thor says no one knows more about this stuff than you,” Jane replies.  “If you’re going to be here everyday you might as well keep busy, make yourself useful.  Of course, Thor also told me not to trust anything you say or do, but whatever.  You’re here.  You should help.”

Loki’s sneer makes Jane cower, but only slightly.  Ellie sighs heavily.

“You could at least think about it,” she suggests.

“There is less than nothing to think on,” he informs her primly, pulling away from Eleanor.  All three women watch him warily as he retrieves his book from the couch.  With fast, angry footsteps, he approaches Darcy’s workspace.  Everything about his presence seems aggressive, and the bosses seem to panic, but Ellie just rolls her eyes at his dramatics.  In the end he just snatches away a spare chair near Darcy, dragging it across the room, back to Ellie’s desk.  He drops down into it with flourish, sitting as close to Ellie as possible.

“Behave,” she reminds him.  Loki just sneers at her before returning to his book.  The girls seem to let out a collective breath of relief, but Ellie watches Loki for another moment, trying to determine if he’ll let her work in peace now.

When she’s satisfied that he’s thoroughly occupied, she reaches for her headphones once again, only to have Loki snatch away her iPod.

It is a luxury that she’s only been able to afford since joining on with Stark, and she is extremely protective of the device.  She bites her lip to keep from protesting as Loki critically examines it.

“This differs from the music player you bestowed upon me,” he murmurs. 

“It holds all my music,” she replies, appreciating the way he handles her beloved iPod. 

“How many songs?” he asks, using his thumb to study all the artists.

“A fuckton.”

“Eleanor,” he reprimands, elongating each syllable.  Resigning herself to the fact she will not be listening to music, she turns back into the data-entry groove when Loki speaks again.

“I do wish I possessed the mental clarity to retrieve my music player from my prison before our departure,” Loki murmurs, sounding so sad.

Ellie doesn’t speak as she reaches out for the iPod.  Loki watches the screen intently as she scrolls through the artists, selecting one entitled _ME!_ Hidden among various live recordings, many from her high school days, Eleanor settles on the proper album.

“The songs have names,” he muses as she hands him the iPod. 

“Some I wrote,” she replies.  “Some I didn’t.”

Loki puts in the ear buds, pushes play, and lays his head down on the desk, just near Eleanor’s hand.

* * *

 

“So dish,” Darcy says.  “This is the first time we’ve had a moment to ourselves since you guys blasted back from Asgard.”

Fighting a smile, Ellie glances out the window to see Loki lounging in the distance, reading with his back against a tree in the courtyard between the great round laboratory and the rest of Stark’s new research, development, and training complex. 

The whole compound looks so bizarre and shiny out here in the desert.

“Well, it’s a little tricky being as it is physically impossible to be more than a hundred yards away from the guy,” Ellie murmurs, smiling slightly as Loki glares up at a bird that’s perched on a branch just above his head. 

“Yeah, that shit has to suck,” Darcy muses.

Ellie just shrugs in response.  The transition has been extremely strange but it is better than thinking of him rotting away with his lips sewn shut.  Loki may drive her a little crazy and she feels so guilty for liking him at all, given what he’s done, but there is relief in knowing where he is, knowing that he’s safe.

There is no way Ellie is about to admit her growing dependence on the dark prince.

“What would happen if someone tried to kidnap you?” asks Darcy, sounding far too excited. 

“I don’t think they’d physically be able to take me away,” replies Ellie, curious as well.  “Or Loki would get dragged along.  It wouldn’t be good and it would hurt like a bitch.”

“Can we try it, Jane?” Darcy asks.  The leader of the lab doesn’t even glance up form one of her strange machines. 

“No.”

“Please?” Darcy begs.

“You know what’s the most annoying thing about this whole strange situation?” says Jane, turning on Ellie.  She winces. 

This plan to take responsibility for Loki’s punishment and rehab was not thought through.  Ellie didn’t even pause to consider how Loki’s presence would effect those around her.  She didn’t think about how the people who care about her would feel.  Ellie is so guilty for putting Jane and Darcy in this situation, but she wouldn’t change her mind, not when Loki spends less time lost back in the Void everyday.

“The fact that he only talks to Ellie and when he does look at us his face gets all pinched like we smell bad?” guesses Darcy.

A little snort escapes Ellie’s lips at the very accurate description of one of Loki’s many memorable expressions.

“No, he can glare all he wants,” Jane mutters.  “I could care less about what he thinks of me.  Thor says Loki is like the paramount expert on the energies required to move between worlds.  He probably has the solution to half our current issues stored in that head of his and he just won’t help because he hates us and he hates his brother, who loves him so much it’s annoying actually.  And I don’t care about that, but what really rankles is all that knowledge going to waste!  Frankly, it’s offensive.”

Darcy laughs, amused as ever by Jane’s near single-minded devotion to her work.  “Jane, he’d probably just sabotage us anyway.”

“He can’t,” Ellie reminds them.  SHIELD made her include this in her command, which is actually like a lot of little commands.  “Give him time.  He’ll get bored eventually and probably start working here just for something to do.”

His mind is healing.  As he sorts through memories, he is coming back to himself.  When his mind is his own he might tap into all that Bifrost knowledge, but for now he just needs to heal.  All this Ellie keeps to herself.  She’s working real hard on the trust thing and dishing with her girlfriend on his mental state would surly set them back.

“Okay,” says Darcy, collecting herself.  She crosses the lab to lean against Ellie’s desk.  “He’ll be back any moment.  We need to focus here, people!”

“On what?” Jane asks, pushing her glasses up to rest on top of her head as she gives Darcy her full attention.

“I don’t care about the knowledge stored away in that beautiful, murderous head of his,” Darcy says in a wistful way that has Eleanor prickling.  “Is he your boyfriend?”

Jane pulls a face as Ellie sputters for moment.

“This question isn’t that weird,” Darcy says.  “I mean, you won’t date Cap.  You went to another planet to save him from a long-ass prison sentence and willingly bound your life up with his.  And all this after you make him a one night stand and he imprisoned you in some weird tunnel for like a million years.”

For a moment Ellie is surprised by the extent of Darcy’s knowledge of her history with the God of Lies, but the Avengers are a bunch of gossips so it really makes sense.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ellie finally manages.  Was there ever a term less fitting to describe their bizarre relationship?

“But he’s pretty much your boyfriend,” Darcy insists, grinning.

Ellie shakes her head, wishing Loki would come back.  “He hates me.”

The laughter that erupts from both Jane and Darcy thoroughly shocks Ellie, whose mouth pops open in shock.

“He does,” Ellie mutters, in something of a daze as the women collect themselves.  “Or at least he’s trying to.”

“He doesn’t,” says the ever-kind Jane.  “And he’s failing.”

“You’re an idiot,” says the ever-blunt Darcy.  “Us he hates.  You?  Not so much.”

They don’t understand, but Loki sure as shit is no fan of Ellie’s these days.  He resents her for his inexplicable dependence on her voice and her touch.  And now she has all the power.  Hate may be too simple, but it’s certainly a major part of his feelings towards her.

“So you’re hitting that, right?” asks Darcy.

“Darcy!” Jane’s horrified exclamation makes Ellie smile as she shakes her head in answer to Darcy’s inquiry. 

“What!” continues the engineer.  “Living in that tiny shack!  Do you even know if they have another bed?”

Again, Ellie shakes her head.

“You hussy,” Darcy drawls, unimpressed.  “But you have slept with him? And not the sleeping kind of slept.  The banging kind of slept. Like a lot, right?”

This time Ellie can’t help but smile wickedly when memories flash through her head.

“You shameless hussy!” Darcy squeals.  “Was it epic?  Shit, look at your face.  Of course it was epic.  Could you keep up with him?  What about that sliver tongue nickname?  Details, woman!  I need details.”

Jane sighs and turns back to her work.  Ellie smirks, shaking her head slightly.

“Really?” demands Darcy, crossing her arms over her chest.  “You aren’t going to give me anything?”

Why Darcy expects Eleanor to indulge in girl talk is a mystery.  They’ve now worked together for almost a year and although she is no longer totally silent, Darcy should be used to Eleanor’s preference for quiet at this point.

“You two are unbelievable!” shrieks Darcy with genuine anger.  Ellie blinks up at her, surprised, but Jane just sighs again, obviously having experienced something like this before.  “My two best friends are banging gods.  Gods!  Actual freaking gods while I’m stuck with lame, whimsy little mortals.  You two are boning mother flipping gods and you don’t even have the decency to give me even a little bitty detail!”

Ellie waits a beat before asking, “I’m one of your best friends?”

Despite Darcy’s obvious irritation, Ellie is deeply touched.  She is still not used to having friends again, let alone _best_ friends. 

At Ellie’s clarification, Darcy let’s out a growl of outrage before turning on her heel and storming out of the lab.  She hustles up the path towards the residential part of the complex, throwing a glare at Loki as she goes.  He gives her one of those freaky maniacal smiles that makes Ellie wonder just what sort of man he’ll be if he ever manages to get his mind back.

“She’s just frustrated,” explains Jane, already absorbed back in her work.  “There are slim pickings around here.  And I think she misses Steve.”

Ellie nods absently, still observing Loki.  As Darcy disappears, Loki turns to look right at Ellie.  Form this distance, Ellie has no chance of decoding the meaning behind his facial expression.

“Be careful, Ellie,” warns Jane. 

“I will,” Ellie replies.  And she really does what this to be the truth, despite all her utterly reckless actions thus far when it comes to the thoroughly dangerous god.  “Hey, do you mind if I take off?” Ellie asks, continuing to stare at Loki.  He stares right back.

“You finished with those notes?”

“Just sent them to you.”

“Okay, you can take off.  That’s it for the day.”

“Don’t forget to eat, Jane,” Ellie lectures.  It is a speech she’s been given herself countless times in the not too distant past.  Now, Ellie is constantly reminding Jane of meals and trying to get Loki to consume something other than ice cream.

“Yeah, yeah.  Get out of here.”

Loki is pretending to read when Ellie approaches his spot in the unnaturally lush courtyard.  He doesn’t glance up as Ellie stands before him, casting him in shadows as her body blocks the setting sun.  The purposefully blank expression on his face makes Ellie nervous.

“Hello,” he says carefully.  Although he continues to stare at the page, his eyes don’t move from a fixed spot.

“Hi,” she replies.  “You ready to go?”

There is no response, nor does Loki make any move to get up from his spot, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.  Instead of badgering him, Ellie drops her purse and sits down in the soft grass, facing him.  She looks up at the blue sky that seems so much vaster here than it is back east.  She enjoys the setting sun and waits for Loki to speak.  The sun drifts a little closer to the horizon before Loki does just that.

“You believe that I hate you?”

Ellie recognizes his one of forced nonchalance and she gives herself a moment to get over the shock brought on by his question before turning to look at him.

She’s not as good at faking nonchalance as the God of Lies, but she’s close.  He simply has millennia on her.  Loki doesn’t respond, nor do his eyes leave that same spot on the book in his lap.

“You heard our conversation,” she says, pointing out the obvious.  He doesn’t respond.  She’s supposed to be the only silent one in this relationship.  “How did you do that?  It’s amazing.”

“Do you believe I hate you because you loathe me in return?” he asks.  This time he can’t quite manage to maintain his apathetic attitude. 

Ellie snorts humorlessly.  At the sound, Loki’s head snaps up, his gaze finding her as he finally stops staring at the stupid book.

“I willingly tangled my life up with yours and travelled across the universe to rescue you from a century of solitude.  Are those actions motivated by hate?”

“You have control of my movement,” he reminds her for the squillionth time.  “This would give you your revenge for your imprisonment and my attempt to infect you with the tesseract.  So yes, your actions could easily be motivated by hate.”

Letting her face fall forward into her hands, Ellie sighs heavily.  “I’m so tired of having this conversation,” she mutters into her palms. 

“Perhaps you could attempt once more in a way that is not completely absurd, verging on the totally insane.”

He’s getting snappish now, but Ellie takes a deep breath before attempting to once more explain the inexplicable. 

“I just…”  She takes a deep breath and starts over.  “I couldn’t stand the thought of you rotting away alone in a cell when you need help.”

“I require no assistance!”

The roll of her eyes is the only sign that she heard his out burst at all.

“And somewhere along the line, after I decided to fix my life, I got it in my head that if you’re a lost cause, than I am too.  Save you, save myself,” she says, feeling like an idiot.  It doesn’t make sense to her.  How could it possible make sense to him?  “Really all I’m trying to do is give you somewhere safe to pull yourself together.  That’s it.”

“Your obscene attempt to play savior is pathetic as it is unnecessary,” he says, casually studying his fingernails.  “I am far beyond redemption.”

“Whatever, Loki.  Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

Loki just blinks at her for a moment before the glare is back.  “The nonsense that constantly spews forth from your pretty little mouth is truly baffling.”

“Aw,” Ellie croons with false sweetness.  “You think I’m pretty.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”  The statement is made with such anger the compliment should be ruined, but his words make Ellie blush anyway. 

She goes silent, having no idea what else to say.  It takes him a few moments, but he manages to let the rage drain out of him. 

“You think I hate you?” he asks, suddenly so quiet and unsure.  “Truly?”

“In the course of this conversation you’ve referred to me as absurd, insane, obscene, pathetic, unnecessary, and baffling,” she lists, matching his gentle tone.  “What am I suppose to think?”

“Also beautiful,” he whispers.  “Let us not forget beautiful.”

Ellie sighs.  “Do you hate me, Loki?”

“No.”

She can barely hear the reply and it’s not enough.

“What do you think of me?” she asks, trying to be brave.

“I think you a great fool,” he mutters, avoiding her gaze.  “I often wonder how you managed to infiltrate my consciousness.  Why is it my whole life seems a blur but I can recall every detail of your face, your voice, our time together, in startling clarity and detail.  What did you do to me?”

He studies her with something close to awe and Ellie can’t look away.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.  “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing I originally intended,” he mutters, frowning slightly.  “I can assure you of that.”

The petulance in his tone makes her smile. 

“I don’t hate you,” she repeats.

“Although you should.”

“And you don’t hate me.”

“Contrary to my greatest wishes.”

“We don’t hate each other.”

“We are both fools.”

“We don’t hate each other,” she repeats, staring him right in the eye.  “Okay?”

The slight nod of his head is enough for now.  Ellie gets to get feet, feeling strangely light.

“Let’s go home.”

Despite some grumbling, Loki lets her hold his hand all the way to the car.


	25. Magic

“After work we need to go to the store,” Ellie calls from the bathroom as she dries her face.  Loki continues to lounge in bed.  He is not a morning person and frequently lingers long after the alarm goes off.  Several times a week he makes her late and Eleanor teases him about being a spoiled prince.  “Former prince,” is his usual irritated reply.

“I hate the market,” Loki grumbles from the bedroom.  His grumpiness is far more appealing than it should be. 

“We’re out of ice cream.  You finished it last night,” Ellie reminds him.  There is a beat of silence.

“Eleanor, after you complete your menial tasks for the day we must venture to the hellish place known as the grocery,” he says.  Ellie giggles and shakes her head, selecting her toothbrush and coating the bristles in a liberal amount of toothpaste.

She hums to herself as she brushes.  The growing ease of their routine makes her feel something close to happiness, although that’s not quite it.  Contentment, she decides.  She’s content with Loki, as bizarre as it sounds.

But it won’t last.  She isn’t fool enough to think the peace will last, not with Loki. 

Ellie rinses, not paying much attention as she runs the brush under the water.  Satisfied with the cleanliness of her mouth, she attempts to return the brush to its proper place next to the sink, but she is unable to do so.

Frowning, she watches without comprehending as the toothbrush becomes pliable.  It slips through her fingers, slithering down the back of her hand to wrap itself around her wrist.

Beady little eyes blink up at her and she lets out a shrill squawk as she violently shakes her wrist, trying to dislodge the tiny serpent that was once her toothbrush.  The snake even bears the same markings, white with blue accents. 

“Ew, ew,” she chants.  The shaking is clearly not working and she abandons this tactic in favor of prying the thing off with her free hand.  It comes away fairly easily and Ellie holds it just behind the head between her thumb and forefinger.  It wiggles as Ellie holds it close to her face, observing as a tongue darts out between fangs that appear to be bristles. 

“I anticipated screaming at the very least,” Loki says, his voice in her ear.  She jumps slightly, shocked by his sneakiness as usual, but she just keeps looking at the toothbrush sized snake.

“God of Mischief, indeed,” replies Ellie.  “Aw, it’s kinda cute.”

“Do Midgardians not fear snakes?” asks Loki, sounding genuinely confused. 

“Most do,” Ellie explains with a shrug.  “I’m a country girl at heart.  These little guys were everywhere when I was growing up.”

“Damn.”

With a laugh she turns around, only slightly surprised to see Loki standing so close.

“I truly thought there would be screaming at the very least,” he says again, pouting.  “Even the stoic and strong beauties of Asgard fear the serpent.”

Ellie has no desire to talk about the beauties of Asgard.

“Can I keep him?” she asks.  Before Loki can answer Ellie has a startling revelation.  “This is magic,” she observes.

“Oh no.  I believe this can be explained by Jane Foster’s beloved _science_.”  He is such a sarcastic motherfucker, but Ellie will not be distracted.

“Loki, you used magic!”

“Yes,” he says slowly, as if he is speaking to a moron.

“Magic!”

“Obviously,” he drawls. 

“ _Magic._ ”

“Have you forgotten all other words?”

He isn’t getting her excitement so she throws herself at him.  The snake falls to the floor with a thud, indicating it’s back to being a toothbrush, as she wraps her arms around his neck, yanking him down into a hug.  Although the tension in his frame is apparent, Eleanor is too happy for him to care about his discomfort.

This is progress, the first concrete evidence that he is better off here with her then alone.

“I am thrilled for you,” she murmurs into his bare chest. She looks up at him, feeling strangely misty eyed.  “Magic,” she whispers, resting her hand over his heart.

The beat of it is fluttering and frantic.

Loki is frowning at her, his eyes darting as he looks randomly at each of her facial features.  Lips, eyes, ears, cheeks all get a glances as he struggles with something unknown to Eleanor.  Her mouth gets the most attention and when she licks her bottom lip he comes to a decision. 

Bruising hands latch onto her hips and Ellie is airborne, pushed back into the counter and lifted to sit there.  There is no time to breathe or register her sudden change in location because he is kissing her, wild and unrestrained and desperate.

She gasps and Loki’s fingers dig into her hips when it takes her a beat too long to respond.

Her whole body lights up, remembering this, and now that she’s allowing herself to want again – she spent a lot of time studiously _not_ thinking about it since his return – it is everything.

He kisses her dizzy, stealing her air and coaxing needy noises from her chest. Wanting this much hurts, as does the way he sinks his teeth into her lower lip, and Eleanor loves it, needs this in a way that is all consuming.

He kisses her as if he is punishing her for something and her fingers tangle in his dark hair, punishing him back.

It’s her current job, after all; punishing him. 

Ellie loses ground as he leans her back over the sink, her head eventually hitting the mirror.  Something cracks, but it is not Ellie so she can hardly be bothered.

Legs spread to accommodate his hips, her feet flap around uselessly for a moment before she manages to steady herself, digging her heals into the back of his thighs and making him groan.

“Fuck.”  It’s a hoarse moan as he grinds into her.

“Language!” Those fingers are definitely going to leave bruises, but Eleanor is far past the point of caring.

It’s been so fucking long.  Since doing her high school boyfriend at age sixteen, Ellie’s never gone more than a few weeks without sex.  It’s been months and months and months.  Without him she built a mental fence around the part of her that needs to be touched like this, but it’s gone now and she groans in frustration and desire because she can’t get close enough.

The position on the bathroom counter is awkward as they pull and rip at each other, but Eleanor doesn’t even consider retiring to their bed.  Anything might ruin the moment, might remind Loki that she holds this power over him and that he is faintly disgusted by the mortal part of her flesh.

There is unwanted space between them and Ellie gets yelled at once more for her language before she realizes that he is tugging at the waistband of the leggings she slept in last night.

“Hurry,” she manages.  She scrambles around, trying her best to help him get her naked even if finding the leverage is difficult.  “Loki, _hurry_.”

A shiver goes through his whole body at the sound of his moaned name.  Her panties get pulled off along with her leggings, leaving her only in an over-sized t-shirt, and Loki catches her jaw in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eye.

They are green.  They are still green, feral and angry and needy, but still green.

“Say my name.”

Ellie closes her eyes, trying in vain to compose herself.  At this point it seems possible to get off on his voice alone, but then his hand is between her legs.

“Loki.” 

He grunts and Ellie watches him watch his own hand work for a moment.  It’s too much but not what she wants.

“Loki,” she says again, tugging his wrist.  He snarls at her and Eleanor’s feels like her every muscle is pulsing in time with her frantically beating heart.  Blood rushes in her ears and it is frustrating because she’d rather hear just him. She leans back and uses her feet to pull at his sweatpants.  “Loki, please.  Hurry, _hurry_.”

And he finally understands, pulling her hips to the edge of the counter.  The noise Eleanor makes when he finally slides into her is so fucking desperate it might be embarrassing, second only to Loki’s own cry of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck,” she hisses, her head falling back to hit the mirror.  He hitches her legs higher up on his waist and Eleanor cries out again.  “Move,” she insists. 

He does.

It is brutal and perfect.  He demands that she looks at him but it’s hard with her eyes rolling back in her head with every thrust.  He tugs on her hair when she forgets to maintain eye contact.  She doesn’t know where to touch him, finally setting her palms on the spot where neck meets shoulder, holding on.

Loki’s grunts are beautiful.  So is the way his hair falls in a curtain around them.  His eyes are green and pleasure twists its way through Eleanor’s limbs.

He’s gone just as long without this and far too soon his thrusts get erratic so she knows the end is near.  For now. 

When she touches herself where they’re connected, Loki watches for a moment.  The expression on his face does it for Eleanor and she goes willingly over that cliff, muffling her screams in his neck.

He joins her.  Eleanor’s never heard her name sound so beautiful as it does in this moment.  There is reverence and fear in his voice.  Loki is shaking in her arms and Eleanor shakes too.  She lets her legs fall from his waist as he stands a bit straighter, but refuses to stop hugging him.  Maybe if she holds on long enough they’ll both stop shaking.

Loki whimpers into her skin and Eleanor turns her head to kiss him, but he’s gone suddenly.  Without him propping her up, she slides off the counter, landing in a heap on the bathroom floor.   She looks up to see him angry, his back pressed against the closed bathroom door as he regards her with such distain.

“Loki?”

“No.”  He is shaking his head at her, glaring.  Eleanor doesn’t understand what she did wrong.  “No.  No, you will not do this to me. It will not happen again.”

And then he turns on his heel, opens the door, and flees, leaving her horribly confused, still sitting alone and shaken on the bathroom floor.  Her body hasn’t quite managed to catch up to this stunning turn of events, and little tingles of pleasure plague her system, reminding her how good it was only moments before. 

Ellie gives herself another few moments to catch her breath and clear her head before searching him out once more. 

He isn’t in the house and Ellie wanders through her little garden, moving around back.  She knows exactly where he’ll be, but feels the need to make sure anyway.  Loki always goes to the same spot when he needs distance from Ellie. 

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Ellie makes out his dark silhouette in his usual position on top of the rocky outcropping that backs up to their cabin.  After particularly quiet days, Loki climbs to the top of the bluff, staring determinedly at the stars. 

Now he sits still as a statue, despite the intensity of the morning sun.

She returns to their bedroom, crawling across the mattress to retrieve her cell phone on the bedside table.  Frowning and staring out the window at Loki’s rock, Ellie dials Jane.

“You’re late,” says her boss in lieu of greeting.

“I know,” Ellie replies.  She curses herself, hating the tremor she hears in her own voice.

“What happened?” Jane asks, reacting to that damn tremor.  “Are you okay?  Did he hurt you?  We’re coming—“

“No!” Ellie manages to interrupt Jane’s rant, horrified at the prospect of Jane and Darcy showing up to find Eleanor such a mess and Loki so fragile.   “I’m fine.  He didn’t hurt me.”

Not physically anyway. 

“Eleanor,” Jane says, seriously concerned.

“I’m just not feeling very well,” she replies.  “I’m going to need to take a sick day.”

Jane is silent for a very long time.  Ellie tires not to ruin it with her tears.

“Ellie,” says Jane, talking quietly.  “You can talk to me.  You know that right?  I’m not going to judge you or try to convince you to send Loki back to Asgard.  I’ll just listen.  That’s it.”

Ellie takes a shuddering breath, unable to hide her little sniffle.  “I’m fine,” she repeats.  Jane sighs again.

“Text me every hour to ease my worry or Darcy and I will be knocking down your door quicker than you can say mischief,” Jane continues.

“Okay, Mom.”

“Do you have your panic button?”

“Yes,” she snaps, losing patience.

“Good.  Text me.  And we love you, Eleanor.”

“Yeah!” Darcy yells so loud Ellie can clearly hear her thought the phone.

“Thanks,” she replies, pleased for a moment.  “See you tomorrow.”

Ellie let’s herself cry into her pillow, understanding nothing at all.  Not his reaction.  Not what she wants from him.  Nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

 

Eventually hiding under the covers just feels way too pathetic, so she gets up, pulling on a ratty pair of cut off shorts, a yellow sports bra, giant straw sun hat, and aviator sunglasses.  Lugging along her iHome, Ellie posts up in the garden for the day.

She weeds and tends and waters, letting the smell of the soil soothe her. 

Loki finds her hours later, laying on her back in the dirt between raised beds of spinach and onions.  Her eyes are closed as she smells a basil leaf and absently sings along with her stereo, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

“No wonder you are currently so brown,” he murmurs. 

As usual, his silent approach terrifies Ellie.  Her surprise has her scrambling into a sitting position, squeaking slightly as she does so.

“Dude, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” she mutters, pushing her palm into her chest in an attempt to calm the frantic fluttering of her heart.  “You could walk a little louder or something.”

“And spoil all my fun?” he replies, continuing to meander through her garden, intently observing her crop.  “I think not.”

Silently sitting in the dirt, Ellie waits for him to explain what the fuck is going on with him today, but he continues to wander amongst the veggies.  Sighing heavily, she hauls herself up, brushing dirt from her thighs.  Loki is suddenly standing directly in front of her, eyes raking over her dirty, sweaty exposed skin.

“You wear so little,” he says.  As she searches his face, he averts his eyes.

“It’s hot,” she explains.

“I am aware,” Loki replies dryly.  At some point he changed out of his PJ pants into leather attire, a ridiculous getup for the summer in New Mexico.  She’s never seen the green and black outfit before.  His wardrobe must have returned with his magic.  “You perspire extensively,” he observes, seeming to actually resent the moisture on her skin.

“It’s hot,” she repeats.

Loki reaches up and after a moment’s hesitation, he lays his cool hand across her forehead.  She sighs as the chill runs through her.  The sweat seems to evaporate right off her and upon further inspection, Ellie finds the dirt gone too. 

She grins, fully prepared to gush about his returning magic but then his palm moves from her forehead to cover her mouth. 

“Do not start that once more,” he says.  “It is difficult enough to refrain from fucking you into the earth when you wear only that.”

Loki said a curse word.  It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.  Eleanor is speechless.

“Eleanor.”

“Humm?”

“Eleanor.”

She shakes her head, trying to clear it.  “Are you going to explain why you left me alone on the bathroom floor after some of the best sex of my life?” she demands.

Loki smirks.  “ _Some_ of the best?”

“That thing in hallway in the bunker was definitely up there.  And the bit with my hands glued to the headboard.  And from behind with me on my knees.  Or when—“

“Enough!”  Loki might be blushing.  Or maybe it is the sun.

“Do you not like it as much as I do?” she asks, pouting.  “Is that why it will never happen again?”

Loki winces.  “I might have been a bit hasty with that declaration.”

“So, it’s happening again?” She brightens immediately.  “What changed your mind?”

Loki shakes his head.  Eleanor gets close, letting her hand trail down from covering his heart to palming his cock.

“When is it happening again?” she whispers. Pointing her chin to her chest, Ellie looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. 

Loki sweeps her off her feet, slinging her over his shoulder, and marches off in the direction of their bed.

“Guess this is one way to answer the question,” Ellie says as he tosses her on the mattress.

And then there is no reason to say anything at all for a very long time.

* * *

 

He wakes before Eleanor and takes the moment to observe her free of consequence and without her knowledge.  The vigor of the previous night’s activities leaves the songbird in a deep sleep, and Loki smirks, pleased to have exhausted her so thoroughly.

In sleep, her youth is evident, all her edges going soft and the strength so apparent during waking hours is muted into a vulnerability that will never fail to stun Loki. 

She trusts him enough to sleep at his side.

As misplaced and foolish as this trust is, it makes him feel no less honored and terrified in equal measure.

There was a time not so long ago when he had nothing to lose.  But now he has Eleanor.

She is pressed into his side as he lies flat on his back. Her nose is against his shoulder, her hand wrapped around his wrist and her leg thrown over his hip.  The closeness and clinginess should be stifling, but instead Loki turns towards her.

He revels in the very slight ache in his disused muscles.  Languishing in his white cell and doing nothing but sitting at Eleanor’s side day by day, Loki allowed his form to lose its strength.  Inactivity makes him weak and the twinge in his limbs might be a reminder of nighttime pleasures, but overall not a positive.

Perhaps he will join Eleanor in her ridiculous running about with no destination as a means to “stay in shape.”

But no.  There will be no time for that.  His magic is in his control now and according to the plan that is written on the neatly folded paper tucked in the pants Eleanor pulled from his hips and discarded on the floor somewhere between the kitchen and the bed, it is now time for Loki to make his retreat to the Isle of Solitude.

There will be no “jogging.”  There will be no boring days spent watching Eleanor.  There will be no Eleanor at all, not until he can manage an escape. 

This plot that was a foundation and a comfort yesterday is daunting now that he spent the majority of the passed fourteen hours buried inside Eleanor.

He knew from the moment he left her in the bathroom after that messy and embarrassingly brief coupling the morning previous that he’s ruined his own plan once more. 

Being with her is dangerous and addictive.

Worse still, it strokes the minuscule ember of hope in Loki’s chest that perhaps her affection is genuine, that perhaps her affection is true.  Perhaps she is not currently plotting her own revenge that will leave him devastated, turning his heart harder and colder than it was when he let go of the bridge.

The majority of his previous day was spent on the rocks, desperately trying to hate her once more.  Hours spent alone in thought did nothing to kill the hope and he returned to her resigned to the miserable fate of leaving her here and still hoping in conjunction.

Finding her half clothed and earthy amongst her vegetables, his resolve fractured with the memory of her touch so recent and her more than willing to give once more.

Throughout the night he woke her again and again.  The long hours ran together in an endless stream of sighs and groans.  Her laughter surprised him.  Her willingness to indulge his every suggestion and desire did not.

With her the lines of control were blurred.  Although she acquiesced to his every request, she did so with a smirk that made Loki question who truly held the power in that moment.

And then it no longer mattered.

He hoped that if he filled every nighttime hour with Eleanor that he would awake in the morning, his need gone.  After so much time spent lying with Eleanor, surly he should be bored by now.  Surely he should be cured of this desire that torments him so.

Instead he finds himself holding her closer, reassuring himself that she is here in true, that she is no vision from the tesseract or a delusion bred by the Mad Titan.

Still, the plan must stand but he will not be hasty.

Before the removal of their bond he must be entirely certain that he will indeed be able to escape the Isle.  Where the risk of remaining trapped there, enduring his punishment, was once acceptable, it is now not.

Eleanor’s aging is erratic but she could be dead and gone long before Loki sees his freedom.  More likely, in his long absence, she will find another to bestow smiles upon.

The Captain of America, the man out of time, he is more than willing to receive Eleanor’s smiles and more.

No, he must have no doubt that a speedy escape is inevitable and to do so will require much practice and experimentation. 

“Loki?”

The sleepy murmur has his eyes opening. “Eleanor.”

For a long moment they stare at one another in a way that is most uncomfortable, but then Eleanor’s grinning makes Loki grin in turn.

The whole situation is painfully unbecoming.

“Good morning,” she says, shuffling closer to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His grip tangles in her hair, prolonging the kiss and Eleanor groans against his lips, huffing slightly in surprise as he abruptly rolls her on her back.  There was no excess energy to spare to clothe themselves before falling asleep last night and Loki is thankful for their nudity now.

She is warm and moving beneath him, arching off the bed to close the miniscule distance separating them.

Although she is a skilled actress, this Loki believes to be genuine need.  Eleanor’s history is proof enough of her sexual nature and Loki could be any of her faceless lovers.

As delightful as Eleanor’s adventurousness proved last night, it meant that they did not spend nearly enough time in this tradition position with her on her back.  He quite likes her like this, trapped by the cage of his body, unable to leave him without extreme effort.

Loki pushes her hair from her face and Eleanor giggles.

His first reaction upon hearing that giggle on this night passed was anger.  The laughter seemed mocking, but Eleanor is the only woman he’s ever encountered to smile her way through intercourse and it became quickly apparent that the sound she produces indicates her joy in this.

He asked her about the laughter somewhere between giving her orgasm three and five.

“Sex can be fun,” she replied as she attempted to catch her breath.  “The dark, intense thing we’ve done is fucking hot, but it can be fun too.  Lighten up.”

He tried to lighten, even if it was only for one night.

And the following morning, apparently, if his current position and desire is any indication.

He’s grown to covet her laugh, but the sound she produces now is a rumble.

“Is that your stomach?” he asks, frowning down at the songbird trapped by his arms and weight.

She does not acknowledge his inquiry as she locks her ankles behind his back.

“Eleanor, you have not eaten in sometime.” There was an attempted midnight indulgence in ice cream.  They stumbled out of bed only to find the freezer empty.  Eleanor pouted for a moment and was delighted to find that his magic extends to the culinary arts.  She ate his ice cream but that was hardly substantial.  “Did you have supper?  Luncheon?”

She scrapes her teeth against his collarbone and the sound she draws from his mouth is foreign and embarrassing.

“You are half mortal.  There is no shame in your lack of stamina.”

Loki finds himself on his back once more and the protest dies on his tongue.

“I’ll show you stamina,” she says, smirking.

She lets out a birdlike squawk that fits with her pet name as he flips her onto her back again.  He’ll forget her need for food and rest, but it will be on his terms.

Inside her once more, he finds he cares little about anything else.

* * *

 

They are forty-five minutes late to work.  Against her better judgment, Eleanor hands over her cell as she drives, letting the God of Really-Hot-Morning-Sex text Jane and Darcy to assure them that they are on their way.

She does not really want to know what he ends up saying, especially given the way he is smirking in the passenger’s seat.

Loki does not even enter the lab when they arrive, stalking straight to the tree in the courtyard without a word.  It’s an abrupt change from the willing lover in her bed and the mischievous little boy sending texts to Jane. 

Eleanor swipes her card, the glass doors open before her, and both her bosses stop their work to stare when she enters.

“Sorry,” Ellie murmurs.

Even as she apologizes for her lateness she grins.  Her legs are Jell-O and her heart is full and she will probably not be able to stop grinning at any point today.

“Orgasm induced coma?” Jane asks, brandishing her cell.  “Is this a joke?”  She looks at Ellie for a few beats.  “Apparently not.”

Despite her shower and her tamed hair, Eleanor feels like she must have that well fucked, glassy-eyed look about her.  She is moving like an old woman, not used to being the partner with less stamina, but it’s the best kind of ache.

Although sitting is not going to be pleasant.

“Oh, I hate you,” says Darcy mutters, turning away to tinker with some bizarre looking machine.

“Are you okay?” Jane asks, frowning.

Eleanor nods enthusiastically and Jane rolls her eyes.

“Here’s all the work you missed while you were banging your megalomaniac.  Get on it.”

* * *

 

“What the hell is he doing?” asks Jane, speaking for all of them.

It’s a very good question.

“That’s a very good question, Jane,” says Darcy, slurping on a smoothie.  Her feet swing from her seat on Ellie’s desk where they’ve all gathered to eat lunch and watch Loki act weird. 

Eleanor nibbles on a carrot, her eyes following Loki as he circles his tree, over and over.

“I mean really, what the hell is that?” Jane waves a hand in Loki’s general direction.  Eleanor doesn’t even bother to turn her head away from the sight outside at the sound of folders spilling to the floor.  The stack took her an hour to organize this morning, but she can’t be bother when Loki is doing whatever he is doing.  “Sorry, Ellie,” mutters Jane.

“Should we tell someone?” asks Darcy.

“Tell them what?  That the God of Lies is pacing around a tree like a zoo animal?  It’s not exactly threatening,” says Jane, leaning to sit on the edge of Eleanor’s desk.

“It is threatening to the grass!  He’s going to kill it all and leave a path of dirt around that tree in our lovely courtyard.”

“Is this a good time to mention that he can do magic again?” Ellie asks.

“What?” shrieks Darcy. 

“Since when?” demands Jane.

They are not nearly as happy as Ellie was when she heard that magic returned, although this is probably a good thing because Eleanor is extremely jealous.

“A day ago,” she admits. 

“Is that why you called in sick?” Jane asks.

“I thought all the sex was why she called in sick,” says Darcy.

“How much magic?” asks Jane.  “Like, is he up to destroy the world power here or what?”

“I don’t know how it works, Jane.”

“Guess, Ellie.  I need to know.”

“He is up to enough power to turn a toothbrush into a snake and assist in some really weirdly awesome ceiling sex.”

Darcy cackles and nearly falls off Ellie’s desk.

“Also, he makes really good ice cream.”

Darcy is doubled over in laugher, muttering things like “iced cream,” “oh my God,” and “Frost Giant.”  Eleanor realizes how her words sounded and chuckles a little herself.

“That’s it!” says Jane.  “I’m calling Fury.”

Ellie doesn’t listen to Jane’s call or Darcy’s slurping.  Loki’s circular pacing gets all her attention. 

He is taking powerful, measured steps and he never looks away from the little green bird perched on top of the tree in the center of the path he’s carving.  Loki’s lips are moving as if he is muttering to himself.  On occasion his hands will move in graceful arches at his sides.

This is by far the most suspicious thing Ellie’s seen from her god yet.

Suddenly Loki’s footsteps falter as the bird takes flight.  Ellie’s eyes go wide as it hits a barrier, lighting up a dome of bright purple energy that surrounds the tree along the line of Loki’s pacing.

Loki tugs at his hair and seems to curse at the bird that lies twitching in the grass, but he keeps on pacing.

Ellie looks at Darcy, expecting the engineer to be gaping and marveling at the magical display, but she is unbothered, continuing to swing her legs and sip her smoothie as if nothing happened.

“Did you see that?” Eleanor asks.

“See what?”

“The bird?”

“What bird?”

Ellie is pretty freaked out at this point. “There was this sort of purple glow,” she mutters.

“I think all that sex is making you see things. Shit!” Darcy notices Loki’s noticing of their avid staring and leaps off Ellie’s desk, trying to hide on the far side.   Ellie gives him a shrug and a little wave when they make eye contact.  He takes up his pacing once more, but it is slow, casual, and totally different from the muttering, magical thing he was doing before.

When he starts freaking whistling Ellie’s had enough.  She finishes her carrots and gets back to work.

* * *

 

“What was all that today?” she asks when they pile into her terrain vehicle to make the trip to her shack at the end of her workday.

“I know not what you mean,” Loki replies, lying through his teeth.

Eleanor rolls her eyes. 

“You were making me dizzy with that pacing,” she says, eyes fixed on the dirt road before them.  “Round and round and round.”

“Ah, that was what you delightful mortals call ‘exercise,’” he explains giving her his most charming of smiles.

Eleanor rolls her eyes once more.

“I saw the bird,” she continues.  “And the purple glow when it hit the weird bubble thing you had set up.”

In his genuine surprise he forgets to lie.

“Did you?” he asks, impressed.  Perhaps there is more magic in the songbird than the protection wrought by her wayward father.  “Interesting.”

“So what were you doing?”

In truth he was attempting to free the bird from spells he could expect to find on the Isle.  It was a dismal failure and he glowers thinking on it.  For reasons that are obvious, Eleanor must not know this.

“Not all exercise is physical, my sweet songbird,” he murmurs.  “It has been quite some time since I’ve used my magic.”

Eleanor nods as if she understands, but suspicion stays in her gaze.

Perhaps Loki will be able to fuck it out of her.

* * *

 

“You need to be nicer to Jane and Darcy,” Eleanor declares one night after dinner. Loki sits on a stool at the counter, watching her clean and rolling his eyes.

Since the return of his magic he’s been much crankier.  Although he seems unwilling to take out his foul mood on Eleanor, the same cannot be said for his bosses.

Today, after doing the same pacing around the tree, he spent nearly half an hour hovering menacingly over Darcy’s workstation.  The poor girl’s hands shook so badly she couldn’t hold a tool.

He is definitely up to something, but Eleanor thinks it’s not going well and he seems to be venting his frustrations on her bosses.

“No.”

“Dude, come on!” Ellie groans.  “They shouldn’t have to deal with a hostile work environment because you might be cranky on any particular day.  Quiet and sullen is one thing, but there is no need to terrify them.”

“But I enjoy terrifying them.  It is highly amusing to see how easy it is to startle your cohorts,” he tells her, grinning like a mischievous little boy.

Ellie sighs, the knife she is cleaning slips, and she nicks her finger. 

“Fuck,” she mutters.  The blade clatters into the soapy water as she studies the tiny drop off blood pooling at the tip of her finger. 

“You are hurt.”

Eleanor jumps about a foot in the air when he appears at her side.  Now that she no longer can feel his every movement, he is back to his old tricks of sneaking up on her. 

Only this time, startling her doesn’t seem to have been his intention.  He gently takes her hand and studies her extremely minor injury, frowning deeply.

“I’m fine.”

“You are bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”  She pulls her finger away from him and sticks it in her mouth in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“That is highly unsanitary.”  He takes her hand, pulling her finger out of her mouth with a pop, and sticking it in his own mouth.

“That’s gross!” Eleanor says, shrieking and giggling. She yanks on her hand but he doesn’t let go until he’s good and ready. 

“I am a god,” he informs her when he gives her, her finger back.  His smile is light and teasing. “Surely my mouth is more cleansing than yours.”

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “Do you know what is really not clean?  Dirty dishes.  Why don’t you finish them?”

Loki lets out a barking laugh.

Ellie stares at him, raising a single eyebrow.

“This suggestion was surely jest,” he says in a flat voice.

Ellie shakes her head.

“I will not do this.  It is servants work.”

“You think I’m your servant?” Eleanor demands.

“Well, not entirely.  You are practically of Asgard.  Perhaps I will force your mortal companions to do such unbecoming labor,” he suggests, totally serious.

Eleanor stares at him blankly.

“They are more suited for this sort of mindless task than the work they are attempting to accomplish in laboratory, I assure you,” he says, scoffing.

Eleanor stares at him blankly.

“Remove this expression from your face,” Loki says, shuffling.  Her gaze makes him uncomfortable.  “It is simple fact.”

“So I am more suited for mindless tasks?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“My sweet songbird,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head.  “You do nothing but perform mindless tasks.”

She opens her mouth to yell at him before realizing that he’s right.  Her job is not particularly taxing.

“And to answer your original question, you are suited for something slightly higher in caliber,” he continues.  “Your voice and birth distinguishes you from your fellows.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, interrupting him.  Although Ellie has never been one to pay much attention to his ludicrous insults, he seems to really believe all this superiority crap and she is supposed to be helping him change, so she freaks a little.  “Let me get this straight.  In Loki’s Misguided Scale of the Inherent Superiority of Various Beings, the Aesir are on the top.” Eleanor holds her hand up, indicating the position of said imaginary scale. 

Loki’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he nods.

“Half breeds are just below that.”  She moves her hand lower.

“Never again refer to yourself as such,” he snaps, sounding deadly serious and totally missing the point, as per the usual.

Ellie takes a deep breath, trying to keep her extreme frustration at bay.

“Just below the Aesir are half mortals, correct?” she rephrases.

“Better,” he says, nodding.  “And yes, although I must say you are the only known half mortal.”

“And below that,” she continues, moving her hand even lower, “are the humans, mere mortals, right?”

“Indeed.”

“So tell me, my dear, dark god.”  She matches his speech patterns and he cracks a smile.  “Where do the Frost Giants fall on your little scale?”

His eyes go wide in shock as she points out a glaring flaw in his fucked up ideology, but then his expression hardens into a scowl so intense it has goose bumps raising on Ellie’s skin.  She shivers despite the heat and takes a step away from him, forgetting for a moment that he is physically incapable of hurting her.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” he says, tone nothing but polite.  “You make an excellent point. Excuse me.”  Loki turns on his heel and slams out of the house.

Ellie blinks in surprise before rushing through the door, moving around to the back of the house.  She watches him climb the bluff behind her cabin with impressive speed and grace given the steep, rocky terrain.  He reaches the rocky outcropping at the top of the ridge and she can barely make out his figure settled on a rock.

He’ll probably sit there for a long time.

The guilt she feels for upsetting him is somewhat unreasonable, but somewhere along the line his pain became hers.  Now that his magic and mental clarity have returned, she has to push him.  If she allows them to exist in this little bubble, Odin will see that this isn’t enough of a punishment and take him away. 

Still, knowing that doesn’t make hurting him suck any less.

* * *

 

When the sun goes down, Eleanor scrambles up the bluff to Loki’s rock.  The dress and Birkenstock combination proves ill-suited for the steep climb, but eventually she reaches him.  Loki’s gaze never leaves the stars as she hands him a carton of Phish Food and a spoon.  Ellie sit cross-legged on the rock next to Loki, looking up as well. 

They pass the carton back and forth until the ice cream is gone.  She wonders if he takes this for the silent apology it is.

“I spent a lot of time looking at the stars when you were locked away,” she murmurs after several minutes of silence. 

“Did you?”

“They reminded me of you.  You are the guy that came from outer space, after all.”

“You thought of me?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Loki makes a sound like he doesn’t really believe her and Eleanor forces herself to say what she really came up here to talk about.

“Do you understand what I was even trying to say earlier?” she asks.

“Yes,” he replies.  “You argue that my belief in my superiority over the Midgardians is false.  I am Jotun and therefore inferior to other races, including these fools who raised you as their own. The Midgardians may be unintelligent, but they are not monsters.  Not like me.”

Eleanor groans and slaps her forehead with her open palm.  “You stupid, ridiculous god,” she mutters, shaking her head at him.  Loki frowns at her in confusion. 

The fact that he doesn’t respond to her insult is telling and Ellie gets up to sit facing him on his rock.  He lets her take his hand, but he refuses to look away from the sky. 

“You are the smartest being I’ve ever known,” she says.  “It amazes me that there are just some things you so do not get.”

“I am not stupid,” he mutters petulantly.  “You, my dear, happen to fall outside my area of expertise.  Even without the presence of the Tesseract clouding my mind, I find you extremely baffling.”

Ellie smiles at this.  “Your little scale of who’s better than who is stupid and just not true,” she says.

“I am Jotun and therefore the lowest of the low.  How can you let such a monstrous being touch you?”  The self-hatred evident in his voice breaks her heart.

“Stop that,” she snaps, keeping up with this rapid shift in his demeanor is difficult.  “The scale is dumb.  You are no better or worse than me or Darcy or Thor because of what you are and what we are.”

He opens his mouth to argue but she talks over him.

“You are not inherently better or worse than Odin or your mother or Captain freaking America.”  He growls but Ellie isn’t sure at what and she keeps going.  “Loki, what you are is irrelevant.  There is nothing inherently monstrous about being a Frost Giant and nothing inherently divine about the Asgardians.  Does this make any sense at all?”

Loki looks genuinely confused and Eleanor reminds herself that Loki spent a millennia as a pampered, entitled prince, his head filled with a lot of weird interplanetary racism.  Despite this, he is listening.

As amazing and unlikely as it seems, Loki is absorbing her words. 

“You believe you and Odin are equals?” he asks.  “That he is not your better?”

“Well, he is certainly better at the magic and the ruling, but I’m not nearly as big of a douche bag.  No, Loki.  He’s not my better.”

“Insanity.”

Eleanor laughs, but the sound is slightly sad.  “Welcome to America.  We got rid of that divine rule thing a couple centuries ago,” she tells him. 

Loki gets quiet again and looks up at the sky.  Ellie lays her head on his shoulder and enjoys the little moment of peace.

“What would you have me do?” he whispers.

“Just stop being such a dick to everyone,” she requests.

“ _Everyone_?”  Loki obviously is skeptical of his own ability to do such a thing.  The chances of him suddenly making nice with Steve or Thor seem pretty much nonexistent. 

“Start with Jane and Darcy, maybe?” she suggests.  “Focus on what they are actually doing, not just how you think they should treat you.  I think you could really be interested in their work if you get over yourself,” she says.

“Get over myself?”

“Yeah.  Also it would be nice if you filled me in on whatever you are doing outside the lab every day.”

“I’ve told you, Eleanor.  Exercise.”

“Yeah, _whatever_ , Loki.”

Loki sighs and stands, signaling the end of the conversation.  He offers her a hand up, but Eleanor shakes her head.

“No way.  I don’t want you to disappear me down the hill.  It makes my insides feel all wiggly,” she says.

Loki scowls.  “If you attempt this decent on foot you are sure to break your spine,” he comments, picking at his left hand.  It is always the left hand.

“Not if I’ve got you to hold onto.”

This time when Loki offers his hand, she takes it.

* * *

 

The next day at work, Loki makes the coffee himself, asks Darcy questions about the machine she is constructing, and assists Jane with a problem.

He’s not particularly nice, but the change is apparent and startling.

The women gape at the dark god and shoot questioning looks at Ellie who does nothing but grin and hum to herself as she continues her work as a glorified secretary.

She pushes down the suspicion and insecurity, hoping that this is real.  That maybe he’s trying.

But maybe he’s not.  Maybe it is just the opposite.


	26. Luke Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I have a tumblr. jaxington.tumblr.com  
> Come check it out, if you so desire.

“Wow,” Eleanor says through a mouthful of cereal when Loki emerges from the bedroom.  “You look nice.”

Loki frowns slightly and straightens his already perfectly straight tie.

“And you consume breakfast as if you were an animal rather than a lady,” he replies.  “Do try to eat with your mouth closed.”

“Want some?” she asks, waggling around a box of Special K.

“Is there nothing else?”

“Fruit.”

He moves into the kitchen and Eleanor watches, appreciating the immaculate cut of his three-piece suit and what it does to his long, lithe frame.  The jacket is missing, but his pants are black, his shirt is white, and the green vest is beautifully embroidered to match the golden swirls on her favorite dress, the one she wears now.

“Eleanor?” he asks, snapping her out of a particularly lusty daydream.  “Are your ears not functioning properly?” 

He is smirking as he selects an apple, making it clear that he knows she what has her distracted.  She blinks at him as he takes a seat on the stool next to hers at the countertop.  A wicked looking golden knife appears in his hand and he uses it to cut slices from the apple, eating right off the blade.

“Huh?” she manages.

“I was merely returning your compliment,” he says, continuing to smirk.  “You look lovely as always, my pet, despite your table manners.”

She smiles and accepts a slice of apple, eating right off the blade.

Since the return of his magic, the meticulously neat appearance she saw in the bunker has also been reemerging.  It started with his the hair.  She cut it two weeks ago and today it is relatively straight, tucked behind his ears.

This is the first time she’s seen him so polished and formal, but she’s unsure what it means.

Their quiet moment is interrupted by Eleanor’s phone.  She digs it out of her purse, but immediately puts it back when she sees the name illuminating the screen.

“Who rings you?” demands Loki.  “The man out of time?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes at his typical ill spent jealousy.  “My sister.”

“Your _false_ sister?”

“Whatever,” she says with a shrug and a sigh.

“I was under the impression you renewed your relationship with the liars who call themselves your family,” he says, studying his fingernails of his left hand.  It is always the left hand.  “Why do you not answer her call?”

Eleanor sighs again, feeling guilty.  In the three months since her return from Asgard, she has spoken with Laura only twice.  The conversations have been incredibly brief and Ellie has yet to mention Loki.  She just doesn’t know what to say, but Laura’s calls are becoming more frequent so she’ll have to come up with something soon.

“I don’t feel like talking to her,” she says, laying a hand on his thigh and bringing her face close to his.  “I’d rather kiss you.”

He smiles and places a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Later,” he promises, finishing his apple and vanishing the knife.  “We do not want to be late for work.”

She frowns at him in confusion as he clears her dishes, hustles her out of her seat, and hands her the car keys.

“You always want to be late for work,” she reminds him as he leads her out the front door with a hand on the small of her back.  “Usually to have sex.”

His laughter is light and free, but he does not explain his sudden behavior change.  Eleanor is suspicious, but keeps quiet.

As they walk to her jeep a black suit jacket materializes on his shoulders.

“You look really nice,” she murmurs again.

He thanks her and off they go.

* * *

 

Jane and Darcy are at the coffee pot in the kitchen area when Loki and Eleanor arrive.  Most days, Loki ignores their presence and beelines it for a chair near her desk or the couch or his tree, but today he strides directly into the kitchen, stepping up to Jane.

Eleanor wanders in behind him, watching as Jane’s eyes go wide.  Darcy draws her Taser. 

“Jane Foster,” Loki says in greeting.  He bows slightly and Ellie bites her cheek to keep from giggling.   Jane turns a shocked gaze onto Eleanor who does nothing but grin back.

“Um, hi,” Jane manages.  “Good morning, Loki.”

“May I have a moment of your time to discuss a matter privately?” he asks.

Jane and Darcy are stunned by his princely politeness and Eleanor can’t stop smiling.

“I guess?”  Jane looks at Ellie again.  She gives her boss an encouraging nod and shrug.  She never has any idea what Loki is up to. “Let’s just step outside for a minute.”

With a sweeping gesture, Loki indicates Jane should lead the way.  He follows her out to the circular area that once formed the end of the bridge.

“What the fuck?” Darcy asks Ellie.

“I honestly have no idea,” she replies, pouring her self a cup of coffee.

“That can’t be good, right?”

“Guess we’ll see.”

Eleanor leaves the kitchen to get a better view of Loki.  She leans against her desk, sipping and watching.  Darcy watches just as intently, but pretends not to.

Jane goes from shocked to suspicious as Loki talks, but when he stops she gives a reluctant nod.

“You know I am going to tell your brother about this,” Jane says as they enter the lab again.  Eleanor sees Loki clench his jaw and roll his eyes skyward, but he manages to remain polite.

“Of course,” he replies, following Jane to the bookcase behind her workspace. 

“And Fury.”

“Please, tell whomever you wish.”

“No funny business, Loki.  I mean it.”

“I assure you, Miss Foster.  I simply wish to combat the monotony of my current situation.  I have nothing remotely amusing in mind.”

Jane hands over a thick textbook.

“This is the text for my intro level class,” she continues.  “You are welcome to sit in on the class next semester.  It has a physics and a calculus pre rec so if this is over your head I can get you books on those.”

Loki snorts.

“You wrote this?” he asks.

“Mostly.”

“Then it will not be beyond my capability to comprehend,” he says, flipping through the pages.  “I thank you for your assistance, Miss Foster.”

Once more, Jane is baffled, but she manages to stutter out a “you’re welcome” as Loki turns to make his way to Ellie’s desk.

She touches his wrist and he pauses to show her the title.

“Introduction to Astrophysics,” she reads, taking the book from him to thumb through herself.  Not one sentence makes much sense to her, but she barely graduated high school so that isn’t necessarily a surprise.  Shaking her head she hands it back to Loki as he sits next to her.  “They should really call you the God of Smartness.”

Loki chuckles and opens to the first page.

* * *

 

An hour before quitting time, Loki closes the book in his lap.  Eleanor tears her focus away from her computer to watch him stretch in his seat.  He shed his jacket after lunch and rolled up his sleeves some time after that. 

Ellie admires his pale forearms and strong hands as she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“It is done,” he confirms.  Although she isn’t surprised to see him read thousands of pages on astrophysics in under seven hours, she is damn impressed.  “Midgardian scientists lack imagination and finesse, but they are not wholly wrong.  Their theories are much more sophisticated than I anticipated.”

Eleanor leans over to kiss his cheek, annoying and pleasing him all at once.  He gets up, strutting across the lab in a powerful, self-assured way that she hasn’t seen from him since the bunker. 

Jane squeaks a little in alarm when he drops the heavy book on her desk.  The noise has Darcy brandishing her Taser again.

“A shockingly interesting read,” Loki declares.  “I shall require another on the morrow.”

A phone rings before Jane can respond, but she nods dumbly at Loki as she answers it.

“Jane Foster,” she says in greeting.  Ellie can’t hear the person on the other end, but Loki obviously can.  His eyebrows nearly reach his hairline as he turns to look at Ellie.

“What?” Jane snaps, also gaping at Ellie.  “No!  Don’t arrest her.  I’ve met the woman.  I am sure she is exactly who she claims to be.  Eleanor will be there in ten minutes.”

Loki is staring down at the phone, looking grim, and Ellie’s heart rate picks up as she braces herself for the news. 

“It’s your sister,” Jane says.  “She’s at the west gate and they are about ready to detain her for refusing to go away.”

* * *

 

It takes nearly half an hour of explaining to get Laura out of trouble with both SHIELD and Stark security and another twenty to get her access to the property. 

“Those guys are assholes.  Why didn’t they believe that I’m your sister?” Laura complains as they make their way to the jeep where Loki is waiting.  He refused to come inside, claiming that he’s “had enough of prisons to last a lifetime, thank you.”

It should have given Ellie more time to come up with an explanation for her relationship with the god who unleashed an alien army on New York less than a year ago, but she’s still got nothing.

Loki is draped over the hood of her jeep, back resting against the windshield and legs crossed at his ankles.  The pose is reminiscent of an ad and Eleanor smiles.  He looks strange and elegant, lounging on such a vehicle with his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest.  The suit looks as crisp and clean as it did this morning.

“Whoa,” says Laura as they approach.  “Is that your car?  What’s with Mr. Fancy?”

Mr. Fancy opens his eyes and slides off the car, regarding Laura with a wary sort of distaste.

“Who’s this?” Laura asks when they come face to face with Eleanor’s God of Modeling.

Loki crosses his arms over his chest, waiting expectantly for Ellis’s answer. 

“Uh….” Loki looks amused but does nothing to help her lie something up.  “This is Luke,” Ellie says.

Loki’s eyebrows twitch, but otherwise he gives no reaction to her changing his name.

“Luke?” Laura repeats. 

“Luke Smith,” Eleanor continues.  “He works with me at the lab.  He’s sorta my boyfriend.”

Fuck, this is horrible.  Just the worst.

“Oh, _really_ ,” Laura says, scrutinizing Loki.  He no longer looks amused but he manages to give Laura an almost friendly smile as he reaches out to shake her hand.

“Eleanor does have a habit of keeping me all to herself,” he says, all suave and charming.   Ellie prays Laura doesn’t notice that angry, dangerous glint in his eyes.  “But I have heard all about you.  It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Laura.”

Ellie’s big sister looks like she is somewhere between dazzled and suspicious.

“Are you the reason Elle hasn’t returned any of my calls in the last couple months?” Laura asks.  

Loki’s smile gets a little more sinister. “I would never dream of keeping Eleanor from her loving, devoted _family_.”

Laura picks up on the tone and her eyes narrow.

“Let’s get going!” Eleanor says, her voice unnaturally peppy.  Both Loki and Laura look at her as if she’s lost her mind but she pushes through the awkward, grabbing Laura’s bag and heading for the trunk, but Loki takes it from her, stowing it in the vehicle himself.

* * *

 

“So, you’re living with this guy? Already?” Laura demands the moment Loki closes himself away in their bedroom, giving the sisters a time to catch up after dinner.

“Laura,” Eleanor says with a sigh.  She is exhausted already and her sister has only been here for a few hours. 

“It’s just weird,” Laura continues.  “We talk every week for a year and you come to New York for the holidays and you bond with my baby.” 

“How is little Eli?” Ellie asks, feeling extremely guilty and stupid for the way she’s handled her family since returning from Asgard.

“He’s wonderful but don’t you go changing the subject.  Everything is great until you drop off the face of the earth.  Again!”  Laura is genuinely upset.

“I told you I was fine.  Why did you come?”

“I won’t let you disappear again,” Laura says with a ferocity that surprises her sister. 

Ellie is a totally selfish asshole, and as awkward as it feels, she leans over on the couch to hug her big sister.  It lasts a beat too long for Eleanor’s taste, but it seems to make Laura calm down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think about how being out of touch would make you feel,” Ellie says.  “I’m a dick, but I wasn’t trying to disappear again.  It’s just been a crazy couple of months and I am not used to having people worry about me.  I’ll be better.  I promise.”

“Okay.  Great.”  Laura leans back against the couch, smiling and grabbing her wine glass off the coffee table. 

“So you’ll go back home now?” Ellie asks, unsure of what she wants the answer to be.

“I’ll stay through the weekend,” Laura says.  “I’ve got to get home to my boys.  But back to this crazy couple months of yours.  Is it because of this Luke character?”

Ellie nods.

“Why, Eleanor?” Laura demands, totally exasperated.  “Use your words.”

“It’s just been an adjustment.”

“Because he’s already living with you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Dude, it’s working,” Ellie says, groaning slightly.  “I’m doing fine.  Why are you so concerned?”

“You start dating this guy.  You don’t tell me about it.  You move in with him.  You stop calling.  How could I not be concerned?” Laura asks.

Ellie sighs again.

“What do you even know about the guy?” Laura continues.

“Plenty,” Ellie says.  “More than he’d like me to know.”

“I don’t like him,” Laura says.

“Good thing you’re not dating him then.”

“There are vibes.”

“He’s been nothing but polite to you, Laura.”

“Yeah,” she says.  “I guess.  He is polite but there seems to be something sinister under that.  And he looks oddly familiar.”

Ellie’s stomach drops and it’s time to change the subject.

“Laura, I am doing fine.  I promise I will be better about calling.  Now are you going to show me pictures of my nephew or what?”

* * *

 

It is late and Ellie is tipsy when she enters their bedroom as silently as possible.  He is curled up on his side.  As she strips she admires the planes of his back.  Although the skin appears smooth, Ellie has nearly memorized every scar, only apparent to the touch.

Getting under the covers, she slides over to push her nose into the back of his neck.  At first contact Loki jerks so violently he nearly falls out of bed.

It’s been a while since he had such a violent reaction to a surprise and seeing it now sobers Ellie.

Gasping for breath, he sits up, wild eyes darting all over the room as he tries to figure out what is real.

“Loki,” she says without reaching out to touch him again.  He doesn’t do so well with the touch when he is this confused. 

“Eleanor!”  Her name is a panicked, strangled whisper and Ellie sits up, getting in front of him, forcing him to look at her but still not touching him.  His eyes lock with hers and he calms slightly.  “Eleanor.”  This time he breathes her name out with a sigh of relief.

His head falls forward, resting on her shoulder, and she strokes his hair.  Although it was slicked back today, there is a slight curl under his ears now, a result of his shower.  It’s a long way from the long curly mess she became so familiar with in the last months.

“Lie down,” she murmurs.  He lets her rest on her back, his cheeks pressed against her clavicle.  His heart rate calms and Eleanor’s eyes drift closed.

“Liar,” Loki says.

“Humm?”

“I referred to you as a liar,” he repeats.

Eleanor snorts. 

“Okay, my dear God of Lies.  Go to sleep.”

“You deny the lies you told your false sister?”

“Of course I lied to Laura.  Your presence on this planet is a huge secret,” she replies.

“The people of Midgard would want revenge,” he murmurs.  “If they knew me to be here.”

“Uh, try justice.”

“But we walk in town for all manner of eyes to see.”

“People would have to know it’s you.  SHIELD did a pretty decent job with the cover up and other than a few grainy photos of you in the horns, the public has no idea who led the aliens,” Eleanor explains.

“Then why give me a false name?”  Loki says, obviously annoyed.

“I only changed two letters.”

“Why did you deem this necessary?”

The bitterness and anger in his tone has Eleanor sitting up.  Loki does the same, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I just told you,” she replies, struggling to understand what has him so mad.  “It’s a secret. You are a secret.”

He continues to scowl at her. “I am your secret.  It is your great shame in being linked to a monster that compelled you to lie,” he says.

Eleanor is a little stunned to realize that he’s hurt, that she’s hurt him, and although she’d like nothing more than to comfort him, his accusation isn’t totally false. 

“You’re not a monster,” she says.  “But Laura wouldn’t understand.  I barely understand.  It’s a struggle for me to reconcile how I feel about you and all the horror you caused, all the people you killed and all the lives you ruined.  I’m not ashamed of you and you are not a secret.  Most of the people I care about know all about our relationship, but Laura will just worry and tell me what to do and I don’t want that either.”

Loki sits up and snags her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.  With great reluctance, she looks at him and tried not to wilt under his gaze.

“My actions cause you shame,” he finally murmurs.  “Not what I am.”

She lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“That’s right,” she says, smiling as he lets his hand drop.  He frowns.  “You’re getting it.”

“I suppose,” he mutters.

She leans over to kiss his cheek but Loki’s hand tightens in the hair at the back of her head, keeping her close.

“And just what do you feel for me, my sweet songbird?” His breath is warm against her ear and the low tone makes her shiver.

“I….” She has no idea where to begin.  The simple question has an exceedingly complicated answer.  “I like you,” she decides.   His hand tightens in her hair, the pull verging on pain.  “But I don’t know if I like that I like you.  Still, I really, _really_ like you.”

A dark chuckle answers her brutal honesty.  Her eyes flicker shut and when his teeth close on her ear lobe a whimper is drawn from her throat.

"I do not like her," he murmurs.

"You don't like anyone."

"She upsets you."

"Loki, really the concern is sweet, but I'm fine.  I’m sorry that her being here is upsetting you."

He sighs heavily and Ellie relaxes, hoping that he'll let it go and let her sleep, but then he's on top of her, pinning her to the mattress this his hips. She gasps and in their dark room his eyes appear nearly black.  The subtle, gentle thrusting of those hips drives coherence from her mind.  She reaches out for him, wanting and needing more of him, but Loki manacles her wrists, holding them above her head.

"Loki."  It is mostly a plea, but partially a demand.

Even as his lips press into her neck, he keeps far too much space between their bodies.  It is maddening and sometimes she hates how good he is at torturing her this way.  She tries to wiggle closer to the hardness she can barely feel between her legs, but again, he's having none of that.

Her clothes disappear, giving his lips access to more exposed flesh.

"Open your eyes, Eleanor," he commands from near her nipple.

She does.

"This woman would have you leave me," he says, letting the full weight of his body rest on hers.  The change in him is abrupt and when he lets go of her hands she wraps her arms around his neck. 

"No one will make me leave you."  _Except Odin if you don't behave yourself._

Loki stares at her in that way that makes it seem like he's just now seeing her for the first time.  The way he looks at her steals her breath, but then his gaze hardens and he sinks his teeth into her lower lip. It makes her let out a groan, the noise far too loud given who is sleeping just on the other side of the door.

He kisses away the sting of his bite and moves against her in the way she craved moments earlier.

She closes her eyes and arches toward him as his fingers find their way between her legs.  She moans and pants and forgets all about her sleeping sister. 

Loki is inside her and nothing else matters.

"She understands nothing," he hisses in her ear, his pace furious.  "But she will come to know what we do.  You are mine, Eleanor."

Somewhere in the back of her head she recalls a conversation, her one true bit of defiance in the bunker.  She told him that she could never belong to him without Loki being hers too.

"Mine!" he snaps, slamming into her once more before stilling completely.

Things are so very different now.

Ellie manages a nod and a strangled sound that really could be any word.  Loki actually smiles in return before finally, blessedly, moving again.

For a few moments Ellie remembers to keep it down for Laura's sake but eventually she fails.

Utterly and completely.

* * *

 

"Does seeing Laura with me make you think of Thor?" she whispers sometime later.  The steady rise and fall of Loki's chest is disturbed by the shudder that runs through him.

"You lie naked against me and it is _Thor_ in your thoughts?" he says, growling.

"Loki," she murmurs, leaning over to place a kiss between his shoulder blades.  "You know I'm not.  Not like that, but seeing Laura has to make you think of Thor."

"I see no similarities between your false sister and my false brother."

"You're being obtuse."

"I'm surprised such a word is in your vocabulary."

Ellie flips him off beneath her pillow before taking three calming breaths and trying again.

"I'm glad to see her, even if it still hurts sometimes.  Part of you is glad when Thor shows up."

He actually growls, but she knows she’s right.

"Eleanor, there is nothing even remotely similar about our familial situations.  I indulged these ungraceful comparisons, but enough now," he says, so weary. "How dare you compare yourself to a god."

"Um, maybe because our familial situations are so similar it's creepy."

"Sleep now, Eleanor," he says, reaching out for her in the dark. "Sleep."

She can't but he does and that's the next best thing.

* * *

 

"Are you getting up?" she asks, teething sinking into his earlobe.  He lets out a sleepy growl and tries to get away from her by burrowing deeper into his pillow.

"Is your false sister here still?" he mumbles.

"Yup."

"In that case I am not getting up."

"Do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed."

"Of course not.  That's repulsive. Why would anyone consume food in the place they sleep?"

"Can you kiss me?"

Loki turns his head to expose his mouth.  Lips part to accommodate hers, but she scampers away before things get too terribly heated.  This just gets her more grumbling from the God of Sleepiness.

Laura sits on a stool at the counter, sipping coffee and reading Ellie's paper.

"I would ask how you slept," Laura says without looking up, "except I heard exactly how much sleeping you didn't do."

Ellie drops a kiss on Laura's temple and moves to the fridge, pulling out eggs.

"I am too old to be sleeping on a couch," Laura continues as Ellie fixes breakfast.  "But I guess that's what I get for surprising you and trying to break into some sort of freaky military compound. It’s a lot of security for a place that claims to be studying sustainable energy. What the hell do you do there, Eleanor?"

"I'm a gofer."

Laura sighs and goes back to the paper.  For once her sister stays silent through breakfast.

"I'll do the dishes," Laura says, standing and taking Ellie's plate.  "You sit."

Ellie steals the paper.

"So I was thinking we could go somewhere for the day," Laura says at the sink.  "Just you and me.  Let's just drive through the desert of something."

"I can't."

"You can!  It's the weekend.  I know you work a lot so I made sure to ambush you on the weekend," Laura says, getting pissed now.

"I don't have to work," Ellie replies, searching her mind for a good excuse.  If only Loki decided to get up.  He lives for this sort of on the spot lie creation.  "But we can just hang out around here.  Or go to town.  Luke and I were talking about going to town this weekend."

"We can go to town," Laura agrees.  She finishes the dishes and turns to face Ellie.  That look of determination is a sure sign that Laura isn't just going to let this go.  "Just you and me.  Laura and Ellie can go to town."

"I think Luke needs to pick up something at the bookstore."

"Like a book?"

"Maybe."

Laura lets out a frustrated sigh.  "Do you not want to be alone with me?  Is that it, Eleanor?  Are you worried I'm going to drop some other giant bomb that will totally have you on your ass again? Because we're fresh out of secrets in this family."

"We're alone now," Ellie says, still trying to salvage the situation.

"He can hear us," Laura whispers.  "I know it.  This ain't alone."

"Why so desperate to get me away from Loki?"

“Loki?”

Eleanor blinks at her sister.  “Aw, shit.”

Laura gives Eleanor the death glare before digging around for a piece of paper and a pen.  The big sister then progresses to write a freaking novel as Ellie stands by and waits, totally confused.

 _"Do you think I am a complete moron?"_ reads Laura's note.  " _I know who that is!  The photos and video from Germany may not be the best, but I know who he is!  I knew he was connected to that shit in New York!  He's the being that captured you!  And he's done it again but he can't take my baby sister.  Oh hell no!  Quick, let's make a run for it."_

Ellie reads the note twice, trying to give herself time to come up with a response.

She's got nothing.

People generally don't recognize Loki.  Germany is a long way from Nowhereville, New Mexico and there is still so much confusion regarding exactly what happened in New York.  No one expects the megalomaniac that demanded Germans kneel and was maybe involved with an alien invasion to be here among them and dressed like such a rumpled, tired human at that.

Stupid, observant Laura.

"Okay," Ellie says, taking a deep breath.  Her big sister looks like she's a second from sprinting out the door.  "It's not like that.  Not at all."

"Did he make you his freaky sex slave?  Because it totally sounded like he made you his freaky sex slave."

Ellie rolls her eyes. 

"Let's go.  Right now.  Get your booty in that jeep.  We'll hit the road and I'll drive until I have you home safe," Laura says, tugging on Ellie's wrist.

"Laura, listen.  I am home safe.  I live here with Loki and I'm safe."

"He tried to turn us all into aliens!" she shrieks.  Ellie lets out a sharp laugh but there is no humor in the sound.

"Is that the going rumor?"

"I treated his victims.  You sang to the children.  How can you possibly think you're safe?"

Ellie winces.  "I really can't explain it.  SHIELD would kill me for releasing that sort of information, but I'm fine, Laura.  I promise."

"Oh, God.  You've been brainwashed.  There were rumors about that too.  He got to you.  Did he get to everyone here?  Is he running this whole operation?  Planning his next attempt to take over the planet?" Laura is getting steadily more hysterical.  Ellie is at a loss.

This exact scenario is the reason Ellie lied about Loki in the first place.

"You think so highly of me," Loki says, appearing behind Eleanor.  Laura lets out a strangled little scream, but otherwise holds her ground.  It's impressive.  "If only your theories were truth, I would be in a much better mood."

Ellie rolls her eyes.  When Loki leans down to kiss her with far too much heat for this early in the morning, Ellie knows the kiss is for Laura's benefit, not theirs.

"Stop that," Ellie reprimands, pushing him away. 

"I thought you enjoyed it," Loki replies, smirking.

Ellie rolls her eyes again.

"Okay, fuck this."  Laura marches across the kitchen and grabs Ellie by the elbow, attempting to pull her away from Loki and out the front door. "I'm taking you home.  You need your head examined.  This is insane."

"Unhand her!" demands a furious Loki.

"Laura, let me go."

"No.  You're out of your mind."

Loki gets between them and the front door, blocking Laura's path.  He is extremely angry and terrifyingly dangerous, but Laura won't back down and she won't let go of Ellie's arm.

"Release her.  At once," he says.

"Bite me, Psycho," replies Laura.  "I won't let you hurt my baby sister."

"Technically, I'm your big sister," puts in Ellie.  She is ignored.

"It is not I who hauls her around against her will," say Loki, actually being surprisingly reasonable.

"He does have a point, Laura," says Ellie.  "You've never been particularly good at listening to me."

"We're going home.  Right now.  Get out of the way!" Laura is screaming in Loki's face.  Her fingers tighten on Ellie's arm and Eleanor winces, trying to pull away.

Loki lets out an enraged roar, his hands turn blue, and then his whole body goes completely still as he attempts to lunge at Laura.

"Why are his hands blue?" screams Laura.

"Oh, shit," says Eleanor, eyes wide.

For a long moment, no one moves.  Loki because he can't.  Eleanor and Laura because they are shocked.

Her command holds, but eventually Laura lets go of Ellie and Loki stops trying to attack.  The brilliant blue color recedes from his skin and he turns on his heel, slamming out the front door, on his way up the ridge to his rock of choice, no doubt.

"He's gone!" Laura says.  "Let's go.  Quick, before he comes back."

"Laura! Fucking, stop!  I'm not going anywhere.  I'm not brainwashed and Loki can't hurt me.  You saw what just happened.  He can't hurt anyone," Ellie says.  In this moment she is much more concerned about Loki's mental state than Laura, but she knows better than to follow him now.  He needs time.

"What do you mean he _can't_?"

"He just can't.  I know it sounds crazy, but he's under a spell that prevents him from hurting anyone," Ellie says, sighing heavily.  She drops down to the couch, already exhausted and it's not even ten AM.

"Spell?"

"Why is that so hard believe after what the world saw happen in New York?"

"I'm still working on believing that ‘what happened in New York’ part."

Laura joins Ellie on the couch.  She stares at the ground as if shell shocked.

"Why is he here?"

"He lives here."

"Eleanor, really.  I'm terrified for you.  The least you can do it explain."

"Explaining is tricky.  We're connected, Laura.  We have similar stories and now he's trying to heal and I've been put in charge of his rehabilitation," Ellie says.  When the truth is spoken out loud to someone who lives outside the world of SHIELD, it sounds so stupid.

"Well, good luck there," Laura mutters. "He kidnapped you."

"Yes, last year."

"Rapped you?"

"No."

"Tried to brainwash you?"

"Yes."

"Failed to brainwash you?"

"Yes."

"And now you are connected to him and he supposedly can't hurt anyone and you are supposed to be rehabilitating him?" Laura asks, still not believing.

"Pretty much."

"How are you doing that exactly? Sex?"

Ellie smirks.  "That perk is for me."

Laura groans and buries her face in her hands.  "What are you doing, Eleanor?"

Ellie can do nothing but shrug.

"And his hands turn blue?"

"That's actually new."

* * *

 

Loki spends the whole day up on his rocks.  Ellie spends the whole day with Laura, catching up and avoiding the subject of the troubled god at all costs.  After dinner, Laura puts on a movie and Ellie slips out of the house, making the climb to Loki and his rock.

She is unsurprised to find him looking at the sky.  This moment is so similar to other moments.

"I apologize," he says when she sits next to him.  This was just about the last thing Ellie expected to hear.

"For trying to attack Laura?"

"No.  The woman is insufferable, nor has she learned at all from the past.  She's told you what to do your whole life and it failed then, but she continues to think she knows what's best now.  It's a disgusting trait," he says, getting angry again.

"Well, can't really argue with you there."  She leans over to kiss his shoulder and Loki shies away.  "Why are you sorry, Loki?"

He says nothing, but stares down at his hands.

"Loki, it's okay."

"You know nothing of it!” he hisses.

Ellie tries to take his hand, but Loki jerks away.

"Are you mad?  I could freeze your flesh from the bone with a single touch!"

"You're not going to do that, dude."

"It was unintentional earlier and it could very well happen again.  I will not put you in danger, Eleanor, even if that means I am no longer able to touch you," he says, sounding miserable.

This time when Ellie take his hand, he only struggles for a moment.

"What happened earlier?"

"It would seem my true form appeared instinctually," he explains.  "You were in danger and this was a means to offer you protection, I suppose."

"Your hands turned blue."

"Yes."

"Does all of you turn blue?"

He doesn't respond, but Loki lets her thread her fingers through his.

"Were you going to freeze her?" Ellie whispers when the silence becomes too much.

"Indeed."

"So much for all this rehabilitation you’re supposed to be doing."

Loki closes his eyes and looks so distraught it makes Ellie shudder.  He slouches down, laying his head on Ellie's shoulder, pushing his nose into her neck and breathing in deep.

"You can show me," she whispers as she strokes his hair.  "If you want to show me."

"Is the songbird curious?"

"Always," she murmurs.  "But you don't have to if you don't want to.  Have you ever showed anyone before?"

There is silence again.  Ellie fights a yawn.  Chatting with Laura and worrying about Loki proves to be an exhausting combination.

"Not with intent."

"You could not have intent now."

"In the future I would rather you not cringe whenever in my company," he mutters.  "Why would you even request such a thing?"

"Because it's part of you," she replies.  There isn't enough moonlight to really see his face.  "And I am interested in every part of you."

"I would like to retire now.  This day has been thoroughly exhausting."

"You sat on this rock for twelve hours."

"I do not like your sister."

"I am aware."

She lets him lead her down to the cottage, sneaking through the kitchen and passed a sleeping Laura to their bedroom.

The sister leaves two days later, but only because Ellie agrees to partake in weekly phone calls.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Loki turns blue.

Ellie is wandering through her garden, trying to plan dinner as she snacks on a spoonful of peanut butter.  Suddenly he's there next to her, tall and slender and so blue he out-does the sky.  The spoon falls from her hand.  Little pieces of dirt get stuck in the peanut butter and all Ellie can do for a moment is stare.

He is watching her expression intently and Eleanor gets the feeling that this is a test. 

As she takes in his red eyes and thin lines etched into his brilliant blue flesh, Ellie makes sure to really look at every detail.  Even in this form he is so perfectly beautiful, freaky as fuck, but totally beautiful.  She's seen impossible things in the last few years, but his blueness is still somewhat shocking.

Despite the color and the eyes and the intricate patterns the ridges form, he's still very obviously Loki.  His cheekbones can still cut glass.  Nose and lips are the same in shape, but really the similarities are most obvious in his expression.  Loki is right here, his frame tensed in familiar anticipation and his head cocked slightly to the side as he studies her with a mixture of trepidation and hope.

This is a test, but Eleanor doesn't know what to say or do to pass it.

"When you said blue," she murmurs, "you really meant blue."  

Damn, she's a fucking idiot.  She'll never pass said test with such inane rambling.  She closes her mouth, having no idea what to say.

“Do I not frighten you?” His tone is angry and disbelieving.

She shakes her head.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs, requesting her words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, her eyes tracing the patterns on his forehead.  “You’re either one kind of freaky alien of another kind of freaky alien.”

He stays silent, choosing not to comment that she too, is practically a freaky alien.

"Can I touch you?"

"Absolutely not!" he says, horrified by the suggestion.  "Do you not recall my ability to freeze the flesh from your bone?"

Ellie sighs.

"Eleanor."  He wants more words.

“Blue is my second favorite color.  The eyes though.” Teeth sinking into her own lower lip, Eleanor trails off.  “They’re…”

“Freaky?” he supplies dryly.

She cracks a smile.  “Yeah, kinda.  Nothing I couldn’t get used too.”

Ellie watches in awe as the brilliant color fades into his typical pale skin tone.  "I assure you, it is nothing you will be getting used to," he replies, smoothing down his hair.

"But I could, if you were more comfortable blue."

"I am decidedly less comfortable blue."

"I'm just saying, if you ever have the hankering to turn blue, feel free," she replies.  Now he lets her hold his hand, although he does seem a little surprised that she chooses to do so.  "You know, even as a Frost Giant, you're still Loki."

He frowns at her.  "I am still Loki."

"Yes."

"And this pleases you?"

"Always."

“What is your first favorite color?”

She smiles.  “Green.”


	27. Surprise

"You, my dear, are a mess," Loki observes.

After their lengthy evening jog through the desert, his statement is truly accurate.  Ellie puts her hands behind her head and slowly walks toward the cottage. 

"I was trying to keep up with you!" she says through her panting. Every few feet Eleanor is forced to pause and double over in an attempt to catch her breath.

With the exception of the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, Loki is totally unaffected by their physical activity.  He also looks quite dashing clothed in the Asgardian equivalent of workout attire.

"Ever foolish, my songbird, attempting to keep up with a god," he says, giving her a smirk and a chuckle.

"Jane is a better jogging partner."

"Alas, it is me you are stuck with."

When Loki reaches out, placing a cool hand on the hot skin of her exposed lower back, Ellie groans.

"You reek," he says.

" _You_ reek," she replies.

"There is dirt on your cheek," Loki continues with mild distaste.  "Your hair resembles the home of a nesting bird."

Ellie turns and pushes her nearly naked body into his, dirt and smell and all. Loki may hate it when she wears so little in public, but for the first half of their run he hung back to watch her ass in itty bitty shorts.  He only picked up the pace when she foolishly declared herself the superior athlete.

In this moment he certainly doesn't seem to mind her little shorts and sports bra.

"I need a shower," she murmurs, tugging his soft green shirt from he waist of his pants. Her hand presses into the bumps of his spine, his cool skin continuing to soothe her.

"What is the Midgardian saying?  Shall we conserve water?"

Ellie laughs.  The brain in this man's head is basically a sponge.  It is truly amazing to see how quickly he picks up on the nuances of human culture, even if he considers it beneath his notice.  Still, it amuses Eleanor endlessly to watch him struggle with other seemingly basic aspects of life on Earth.

An incident with the toaster was particularly hilarious.

"Our shower will be lengthy and is sure to waste this precious liquid rather than save it," he muses, sounding so serious it makes Ellie giggle again.  “This mortal justification for shower fornication is flawed.”

Eleanor laughs, but it makes her winded chest ache.

As Loki walks her backwards towards the side door, Eleanor runs her hands over the planes of his back.

"Will you kiss me?" she asks, pointing her chin to her chest and looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes as her back hits the door.

"You are a mess," he repeats.

"You like it."

His deep chuckle vibrates against her lips as he complies with her request.

Ellie is trying to get her God of Water Conservation out of his shirt as he gropes around for the doorknob.  They nearly fall into the kitchen.  It is only Loki's godly coordination that keeps them upright and Eleanor laughs yet again.

Today is proving to be a very good day.

Laura is gone.  Eleanor passed his turning blue test, and ever since then, Loki’s been something resembling happy.  He hasn’t had a panic attack in six days, a new record, and the bizarro behavior outside with the tree and the bird is only happening once or twice a week.

But Loki is kissing her and groping her and for the first time in years, Eleanor genuinely likes her life.  Teeth sink into her lower lip and Ellie gets frustrated when he won’t lift his arms to help her get his shirt off.

“Whoa.”

The voice makes Loki leap away in terror as Eleanor turns to scowl at Darcy.

“Why are you in our kitchen?” Ellie snaps.  She’s aware of Loki’s nerves.  Dude really does not appreciate surprises, and Darcy in the kitchen is ruining all of Ellie’s hard work creating a safe space for Loki.

“Umm…” Darcy looks into the family room.  Loki and Eleanor follow her gaze.

There, standing in the organized chaos of their home, is the elegant and painfully royal Queen of Asgard.  No one has ever seemed more out of place in such a room, and for the first time Ellie is embarrassed by their cramped living space. 

For a long moment there is only staring and silence.  Jane flutters around nervously at the queen’s side, but Ellie ignores her apologetic looks.

Eleanor remembers that she was just really making out with this woman’s son rather than rehabilitating him.  And she’s wearing basically nothing.  And she is a mess.

Ellie turns bright red but the first person to break the stillness is Loki.  Pushing away from the door, Loki storms around to block his mother’s view of Ellie. 

“Clothe yourself,” he hisses as if this is all her fault.  As if she planned this surprise visit.  As if she wants to be half naked in front of his mother, also known as the freaking _queen of the gods._

Loki struggles to right his own attire with shaking hands as he gives her the death glare.  Taking a deep breath, Ellie steps around the irate god.

“Hello,” Eleanor says with an awkward little wave.  She is trying to sound cheerful, but her tone only serves to add to all the awkward.  Under Frigga’s warm gaze Ellie blushes again and she crosses her arms over her exposed stomach.  “So good to see you.  I’m just going to go change.  Do you want something to drink?  Jane, get her something to drink.”

Ellie flees to the bedroom and wipes the sweat from her skin with a towel as Loki slams on in behind her.  He sits on the end of the bed.  In the closet she sheds her damp clothing.  A dress is selected at random and Ellie pulls it on as she approaches Loki.

All the usual signs of an imminent panic attack plague him.  The rapid rise and fall of his chest is accompanied by gasping, uneven breaths.  He tugs on the collar of his long sleeved shirt with shaking hands.

“Did you know?” he manages to wheeze out.

“Of course not,” she replies, keeping her voice gently despite his absurd question.  “How could I possibly know?”

“Eleanor.” 

She knows exactly what he’s asking of her.

With sure, steady movements, she pulls the constricting garment over his head, discarding it on the floor.  She moves to hug him, pressing their chests together so he can match his frantic breathing to hers.  She strokes his hair and he holds on tight.

“Better?” she asks.

“Another moment.”

He takes his moment and then a few more after that.  When he lifts his head the exhaustion is back, etched back into his beautiful features.

“I detest this, Eleanor.”

“I know.”

“Will I be this way for all eternity?”

“Maybe,” Ellie replies.  “But I don’t think so.  It’s getting easier, right?”

“I suppose,” he grumbles.

Ellie kisses his temple and as painful as it is to see him like this he gets no pity from her.  Loki loathes pity.

His gaze shifts from her face to the doorway, and he blushes violently, dropping his hands to his lap.  Turning around isn’t necessary for Ellie to know just who lingers behind her.  His expression is enough of an indication.

Gathering her strength, Eleanor climbs off his lap and turns to look at the clearly heartbroken goddess.  Mothers are certainly not Ellie’s area of expertise, but this one is very obviously despairing for her son.  In this moment Ellie is torn between resenting the woman for lying to him for his whole life and fully understanding her sadness and fear.

Loki clears his throat and speaks to the floor.  “How long have you stood there?”

“Long enough,” Frigga murmurs.  “Eleanor, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, I would like to speak with my son.”

The goddess is clearly trying to stay strong, but her voice breaks at the end of her request and Ellie can do nothing but nod.

“Eleanor!” Loki says, protesting as she makes her way towards the door.  She gives him an encouraging smile before slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

* * *

 

“Jane!  Don’t go.  You have to take her with you.”  Ellie pleads with her boss as she gets in her van with Darcy.

“She’s not here to see me, Eleanor,” replies Jane.  “She’s here to see her son.”

“She can’t stay here!”  Ellie squeaks.  “This is the freaking queen of the gods we are talking about.  Where is she going to sleep?  Jammed in my music room on the cot?  On the couch?”

After watching Ellie deteriorate into hysterics for a moment Jane sighs heavily and puts both her hands on Ellie’s shoulders. “You need to calm down, lady,” Jane says. 

“Could I give her our bed?  I should probably give her our bed.  Loki can have the cot and I can take the couch,” Ellie continues, talking to herself.

From inside the car Darcy snorts.  “Gross,” she says.

“It doesn’t matter where she sleeps,” Jane says.  “This is about her and Loki.  Yeah, it’s probably weird for her, but all these differences between realms is just going to take a backseat to Frigga visiting her son.”

Ellie exhales and nods.

“You’ll be fine, Ellie,” says Jane.

“Let’s take the queen of the gods out for margaritas!” says Darcy.

* * *

 

Eleanor sits on a rickety folding chair on the back patio with a guitar in her lap.  She absently strums out a few chords and hums to herself, but mostly she frets over Loki.  He’s been locked away with his mother for nearly an hour now, and she worries.

The majority of her time these days seems to be spent fretting over Loki.  That and playing music.  And doing boring admin work for Jane.

When Loki silently appears behind her, Ellie misses those first few weeks after their return from Asgard when she could sense his every movement.  Their magical connection faded and now he can ambush her again.

“You abandoned me,” he whispers in her ear.  As usual, she jumps about a foot in her seat.

“I did not!”  The suggestion horrifies her.

He smiles ruefully but then pushes his nose into her temple so she knows she’s forgiven.

“Are you okay?” she asks, threading her fingers through his dark hair.

Loki nods.

“Are you hungry?”

Loki nods.

* * *

 

Playing host to the mother of her lover/prisoner – _the freaking queen_ – proves to be a surreal experience. 

As she tries to figure out what they talked about for over an hour, Ellie makes supper.  Loki hovers close behind her as she prepares salmon for the grill while Frigga peruses their shelves of books.

“Do you want to eat outside?” Ellie murmurs.

Loki nods and then sighs heavily when Ellie sets a stack of plates, placemats, and silverware in his arms.  Still, he moves out to the patio to set the table without complaint.

Frigga looks slightly uncomfortable and totally out of place seated in a folding chair at the rickety old table on the concrete slab of Ellie’s patio, but she does not say anything negative.  She looks on in confusion as Ellie grills the fish, but unlike her son, Frigga does not comment on the lack of servants or Ellie doing work beneath her station.

Dinner is quiet and Loki is tense, but at least he seems much calmer now.  Frigga asks Eleanor about their life here and then begins to tell stories of Loki in his youth that make the god adorably uncomfortable.

“This is delicious, Eleanor,” Frigga says, gesturing towards the salmon.  “You have a true gift.”

The compliment seems to please Loki as much as it pleases Eleanor.

“You should hear her sing, Mother,” Loki says, reaching out to rest his hand on Eleanor’s knee.  “Therein lies her true talent, although I do favor this dish also.”

Both women gape at Loki for a moment.  He doesn’t seem to realize that he just referred to Frigga as his mother.  It was said so casually, as if habit, but it also indicates something more.

It takes him only a few more seconds to understand why he is being stared at, and when he does Loki’s jaw clenches and her looks down, removing his hand from Ellie’s knee.

“Loki,” Frigga starts, on the verge of tears.

“It was nothing, my queen.”

Things are getting tense again, and Ellie can’t stand it.  She picks up her guitar and sings a song.

* * *

 

Unlike the night a month ago when her sister was their unexpected house guest, Loki – thankfully – makes no move to touch her when Eleanor crawls into bed next to him. 

Frigga is settled on the crappy cot in the music room.  Things got painfully awkward when Eleanor offered up their bed to the queen.  She was equally unwilling to stay in the residential wing of the compound.

“Our sleeping arrangement is scandalous to my mother,” he mutters in the dark.

Ellie rolls on to her side to face him, even if she can’t see him.

“There isn’t a lot of pre-marital hanky-panky on the Realm Eternal?”

Loki snorts, moving to mimic her position.  She can make out his general shape, but no details of her gorgeous face.  But his breath is on her cheek and she likes knowing that he is right here.  There is no touching and the intimacy of the moment makes hers smile.

“Hardly,” he drawls.  “Sexual encounters are prevalent, but not discussed openly.  Living together in this way before a formal union of marriage, it is simply not done on Asgard.  It is taboo.”

“Well, I don’t want your mom to be uncomfortable, but we physically have to live together,” Ellie points out.  “What did she expect?”

“For me to have my own quarters, I image.  Or at the very least my own bed.”

“Do you want you own bed?” she teases.  “We can get your own bed.”

“A waste of both money and the very limited space at our disposal.”

She giggles.  “Money and space, huh?”

“Are you angling for compliments, my sweet songbird?”

“Maybe.”

“I adore sleeping in such close proximity to your tantalizing body, but would rather not discuss it now with my mother just on the other side of that exceedingly thin wall.”

Eleanor giggles again.  She kisses his nose and Loki sighs dramatically, as if he is grossed out by her affection.

“You were alone with her for a long time,” she murmurs.

“Indeed.”

“Are you going to tell me what you talked about?”

“I was not planning on it.”

“Can you tell me what you talked about?” she rephrases.

“No,” he snaps.

Eleanor sighs.

In the silence that ensues she drifts off, so when Loki first starts whispering she mistakes it for a dream.

“She apologized.  She cried.  She professed her love, her regret.  She sees my actions in recent years as a result of her own failure and she desired to know what happened to me after the fall.”

He is robotic and obviously uncomfortable.  Ellie blinks at him in the dark.

“Did you tell her?” she asks.

“I told her that I would rather not discuss it for the associated pain is too great.  That led to tears and the whole thing was quite unseemly.  She attempted to embrace me, Eleanor.”

His incredulity makes her smile.

“Did you return her hug?” Eleanor asks.

 “I patted her back once.”

Her impulse to laugh is totally inappropriate, but there is something so adorable about his befuddlement.

“I’m glad she’s here.”  Eleanor says it because Loki never would.  “It’s a good thing, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Loki admits.  “I know not.  She…”  He goes quiet.

“She what, Loki?”

“She claims to be proud of me, of the progress I’ve made here on Midgard, but I cannot understand what she means,” Loki confesses.  He rolls onto his back, sighing in frustration.

“Well,” Eleanor says, cuddling into his side.  “You have no plans to take over the world, right?” He is silent. “Right!”

“Not at the moment.”

“So at least there is that.”

* * *

 

“You do have a fondness for gardens.”

This kind, amused voice takes Eleanor by surprise, and she drops her hose, nearly drowning a tomato plant.  She scrambles to retrieve it as she turns to the golden goddess.

“Did I startle you, Eleanor?” Frigga asks, concerned now.

“I’m fine.  You’d think I’d be used to you silent Asgardians by now.  Your son seems to live to sneak up on me,” Ellie says, smiling ruefully.

“He enjoys frightening you?”

“Oh, he thinks my jumpiness is just hilarious.” 

“This sounds like my son, the way he once was, before my family fell apart,” Frigga murmurs, looking towards the evening sky.  In every gesture of the goddess Ellie sees Loki, but there is no convincing her God of Stubbornness of these similarities. 

Eleanor can relate to Frigga’s sadness in this moment.  She too has a broken family and there is so much she would do differently if going back were an option. 

“What was he like?”  Ellie is aware that this may very well be the wrong thing to say to the clearly distraught goddess, but she is still not very good interacting with people – Loki being the glaring exception – and she has been dying to ask this question for months.

“Brilliant,” Frigga says with a sad smile.  “Quiet and somewhat awkward in his youth.”

This is absolutely impossible for Ellie to imagine.

“He was almost shy, but ever so enthusiastic, especially regarding all things magic.  He was ever the trickster and some of his pranks were legendary, although earned him few friends.”

Ellie can’t help but smile as she thinks of the incident a week ago when all the songs on Darcy’s iPod were replaced with some truly bizarre monk chanting. 

“He struggled to live up to Thor and the expectations placed on him as a prince, but I did not see the extent of his envy.  There was always a sadness to my youngest that troubled me so, but this rage and bitterness is a recent development, as are his bouts of terror.”

“Yeah, the panic attacks are scary,” Ellie murmurs.  She is drowning her vegetables again, so she turns off the water.  Frigga starts to walk and Ellie falls into step with the much taller goddess.

“Has he told you of his time spent lost?” Frigga asks.

“Not really.  But from what I’ve gathered, it was bad.  Really bad.  Mental and physical torture kind of bad.”

Frigga takes a shaky breath and they walk in silence down Ellie’s dirt driveway.

“I must admit, Eleanor, that when I heard Loki call out for you in his cell, when he was unable to understand what was truly around him, I was envious,” says the goddess.

“Of me?” squeaks Ellie.  Her shock is two-fold.  Loki called out for her and it made The Queen of Asgard jealous.  It seems too absurd.

“He saw you when he did not know me.  He needed you as he rejected his own mother.  I could not manage to help and in my frustration and grief, I resented you.”

Their pace is slow.  They walk just for something to do and Ellie tries to gather the right words.

“You should tell him you visited,” Ellie says.

“He knows not?”

“Reality verses delusion was pretty hard for him at the time.  He is still trying to piece together what actually happened.”

“Oh.”  Frigga lets out a large breath and struggles against tears once more.  Her distress compels Ellie to share a theory. 

“I think he saw what he expected to see,” she explains.  “He didn’t think he deserved your attention, so he didn’t see you.  But it would be good for him to know now.  It’s huge that he’s calling you ‘Mother.’  He gets super pissed when I refer to Thor as his brother.”

Ellie is failing miserably at comforting the goddess, but this conversation still feels important.

“In two days he has referred to me as such only six times,” replies Frigga, sighing heavily. 

“It’s big,” Ellie repeats.  “I promise, Frigga.  He’s healing.”

As they stroll, Ellie’s dirty garden clothes don’t see to matter that much compared to the elegant goddess.  Both women want the same thing.

“You are kin,” Frigga says.  Ellie struggles to keep up with the abrupt subject change.

“Kin?”

“Your father is my kin,” she says.  The mention of the elusive Bragi makes Eleanor’s stomach hurt.  “And so are you.  He was once a very dear cousin.  Would you like to know of him?”

“Nope.”  Ellie’s answer is too harsh. 

“Truly?  You are not curious?”

“He seems like a selfish asshole to be honest.  If he’s still alive.  Right now, I just can’t bring myself to even care.  I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that I’m not really human and then Loki is here, so I just don’t have the energy to give a shit about the dude that left my birth mom to die.”

Frigga is frowning, but she nods and doesn’t push.

“You would be more comfortable discussing my son?”

“Yeah.”

“Here he has a chance to heal, and I would hate for him to be robbed of this,” Frigga says.

“What?”  Eleanor’s heart seems to stop in her chest, just like her feet in the dirt.  “Are you here to take him away?  Does Odin think I’m doing a bad job?  I’ll be better.  What do you want me to do?”

“No,” Frigga says, reaching out to take her hand.  “Calm yourself.  Thus far your performance in this role has not been seriously questioned, but there are whispers.  Since the renewal of your… intimate relationship, Odin has grown to doubt your capabilities to sufficiently punish our son for his crimes.”

Ellie turns bright red and curses the all-seeing Heimdall, God of Creepiness.  She starts walking again, her pace somewhat more furious, just because she has no idea what to say.

“I thought Heimdall couldn’t see me?” Eleanor says, suddenly feeling like she’s being studied.  She even glances over her shoulder.

“He cannot.  He could see Loki before my son once more cloaked himself from the gatekeeper’s sight.  Loki’s father is most displeased about this change.”

Eleanor relaxes, but only slightly.

“You’re saying I have to hurt him, make him suffer,” Ellie snaps, remembering her original cause for concern.

“Productively so.  You have to make him see the error in his ways.”

Eleanor snorts and resists the urge to ask Frigga if she’s ever met her son. 

“Do you love him?” asks the goddess, easily catching up with Eleanor.

“Wha—“ Her shocked response is cut off when she smacks into an invisible barrier.  It feels like running face first into a brick wall, and Ellie falls backwards, hitting the ground with such force the breath is knocked right out of her chest.

For one ridiculous moment she thinks it was the shock of Frigga’s question that’s done her in, but the throbbing of her veins and her bones is painfully familiar, even if it’s been awhile.

“Fuck,” she wheezes, trying to catch her breath.  Frigga’s concerned face fills her vision and she lies still for a few moments.

Eleanor really needs to curse less in the queen’s presence.

“You attempted to exceed the boundary of your bond,” Frigga guesses, reaching out to lay a hand on Ellie’s forehead.  The motherly gesture makes Ellie smile.

“Not on purpose,” she replies.  “One hundred yards really isn’t that far.”

As she sits up on her elbows Loki appears at her side, crouching in the dirt across from his mother.

“What did you attempt to do?” Loki spits out.  The arms that come around Ellie are gentle despite his anger.  He pulls her to his chest, away from his mother.

“Sorry,” Eleanor mumbles, already comforted by his presence.  Being close to him again soothes her tensed muscles.  When she opens her eyes, she surprised to see Loki glaring daggers at his mother rather than Eleanor.

“I did nothing,” Frigga insists.  “We conversed only.”

“You attempted to steal her from me!  You caused her pain!” 

The shrieking is really not helping her body feel better.

“Dude,” Ellie says, trying – and failing – to wiggle out of his firm grip.  “It was my fault.  We were talking and I didn’t realize we’d gone so far.”

Loki does not appear to be listening.  Continuing to glare at his clearly upset mother, he hauls Eleanor to her feet. 

“You are no longer welcome here,” he says to Frigga.  Loki’s contempt and cruelty has Frigga cowering.  Ellie may be somewhat familiar with his violent mood swings, but his mother is clearly horrified to see her son lashing out this way.  “Leave now and do not return.  If I never lay eyes upon you again it will be far too soon.”

He tries to drag Ellie away, back to the safety of their cabin while she stares at the elegant goddess, broken and crying in the dirt.  

“Hey!”  Eleanor is yelling and digging her heels in.  Her resistance garners Loki’s ire, but she will not let Loki hurt his mother for no reason.  “Stop!”

“Is that a command?” He is yelling now too but he stops pulling at her.

“Don’t you tempt me.” This is so far from her typical response Loki actually gapes at her as she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. 

“Eleanor?”

“You are being a total dick,” she informs him.

“ _Dick_?”

“Yeah.  You are acting like a spoiled ass and I don’t appreciate you throwing a hissy fit!”

“Mind your tongue, Eleanor.”  His low and dangerous voice no longer fazes Eleanor.  Behind her, Frigga gets to her feet.  Loki tracks his mother’s movements with narrowed eyes, ready to combat any perceived threat from his own mother of all people. 

As Eleanor sees his fear, evidenced by his pale lips, wild eyes, and shaking hands, her anger drains. 

“Loki.”  She waits for him to look at her before continuing.  “I know you are just reacting like I was almost taken away or hurt, but that’s not happening, okay?  I screwed up.  I wasn’t thinking.  It was an accident.” 

He relaxes fractionally, reaching out to rest a hand against the side of her neck.  “You are unhurt?” he whispers.

Ellie nods.

“You will not be taken from me?”

Ellie tries to nod, but then thinks back to her conversation with Frigga and she can’t quite manage it.  Seeing her hesitation, Loki freaks out all over again.

“Explain!”

“I just have to get better at the whole punishment part, apparently,” Ellie mutters.  The thought is sickening.

“Banishment to this worthless realm and placement under the control of a lesser being does not constitute adequate punishment?” Loki asks his mother.

“Loki—” Frigga is pleading with her son, but he turns on his heel and storms off. 

Ellie turns to look at the goddess and starts walking backwards, following Loki.  She knows his destination is over one hundred yards away and she gives Frigga an apologetic smile as she backs up.

“I do hope you love him,” says the Queen of Asgard, following Ellie towards the cabin.  “For he truly loves you.”

Frigga’s words are ignored because Ellie knows the gentle goddess could never understand.  She doesn’t think on them again.

* * *

 

She scrambles up the bluff to Loki on the rocks.  The sun has to be making him horribly uncomfortable, but he sits anyway, refusing to look her way even as she makes enough noise to wake the dead as she tries to stay on her feet as she makes the climb.

When she reaches the edge of the ridge Loki simply studies his hands, even as Eleanor stands in front of him, hands on her hips.

“You called me a dick in front of my mother,” he mutters, pouting.

“You _were_ a dick to your mother.  She’s probably more upset about that,” she replies.

Loki sighs and Eleanor isn’t mad anymore.

“You were worried about me,” she murmurs.

“Hardly,” Loki drawls, rolling his eyes.  “My motives were purely selfish.  Who would prepare my meals if you were stolen?”

Eleanor shakes her head and fights a smile.

“Also it fucking hurts,” she adds.

He frowns, running his hands over her arms.

“Indeed.  Are you quite all right, Eleanor?”

“Yeah.  Are you okay?”

“Yes.  I’ve endured far worse.”

She knows this to be true and hates it, so Ellie kisses him tenderly, because they do this now.  Loki sighs as she reaches up to cradle his face.

“Am I right in assuming that you are no longer cross with me?” he asks, smirking slightly. 

She shakes her head.

“Why were you so cross with me?  You are no great fan of mothers in general.”

“I like her.  She reminds me of her son.”

“Thor’s eyes are similar in color.  As are yours, but that is a fact I’d rather not think on.”

“Other son,” Ellie says.  She doesn’t want to think about any physical resemblance between herself and his brother, either. “And I don’t mean looks.”

“Oh.”

“Look,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “You have a lot of legitimate reasons to be angry with your mom, but this isn’t one of them.”

Gaze back on the sky, Loki is silent for a drawn out moment.  He picks at the back of his left hand.

“Do try to be aware of the distance between us in the future,” he murmurs, standing and placing his hands on her shoulders.  Before she can promise, Loki is wrapped around her and the world is dissolving.  Her stomach twists as their living room clarifies around her.

“Oh, I hate that,” she mutters.  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“When I give you warning, you refuse.”

“Better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, huh?” Ellie muses.

“What an apt statement.  I approve of this outlook.”

She neglects to tell him that this saying is definitely not an original thought on her part.

“And while on the topic of forgiveness,” he turns to Frigga who stands by the front door, looking stoic and solemn.   “I overreacted.”

This is very nearly an apology and Eleanor’s eyes go wide.  For the first time she thinks he might actually have half a chance at succeeding in this crazy difficult quest for redemption.

“I am not like I was,” Loki admits, shrugging.  “I’ve lost my capacity to be rational, it would seem.”

This is the very worst part for a man as fiercely intelligent as Loki.  As much progress as he’s made since coming to live here with her, he is not fully recovered.

“Oh, Loki.”  Frigga cautiously approaches the troubled god.  When she gives him a tentative hug, he doesn’t flinch or jump.  Instead he closes his eyes and returns the hug in a way that makes Eleanor inexplicably miss Maureen.

* * *

 

Loki steadily sips his wine, watching Eleanor and his mother enjoy each other’s company. 

The Queen of Asgard is actually griping about the lack of variety of music on the Realm Eternal. 

Eleanor is bouncing with excitement, selecting album after album to play on her record player, detailing nuance of style and musical theory for his mother who nods in encouragement.

In this moment, Loki is struggling to recall that this is act only. 

In the months since the return of his magic, Loki’s played the part well.  He appears to be following Eleanor’s road to atonement while he continues to seek ways to ensure escape from the Isle.  He distracts Eleanor with ease, being kind to her ridiculous female companions and feigning an interest in their work, but he still toils to free himself from this oppressive arrangement.

It is not going as well as he hoped.  Breaking a conjured bird out of a dome of entrapment is an inadequate test environment.  Daily it seems as though a bit of his sanity is returned to him, and with this reclaimed rationality comes a doubt in the viability of the plan that is still tucked into his pocket. 

All Loki can do is practice breaking his own spells, an experiment that is inherently flawed, and he is somewhat at a lost for how exactly to proceed.

He will think on it at a later date, when his mother is no longer here and Eleanor is no longer smiling at her.

It is an old thing, observing the blooming relationship between Eleanor and his mother but he finds the cadence of their combined voices to be entirely soothing.  Eleanor’s bright-eyed enthusiasm for the current topic of discussion is endearing.  The patient and eager questions of his mother remind him of how she would sit with him for hours, encouraging his early fascination with magic.

This circumstance for their meeting is peculiar.  He imagines how this would occur if he were a true prince of Asgard. 

He thinks of it often; a life lived with Eleanor at court and Loki unpolluted by the blood of monsters.  Courting Eleanor as a prince of Asgard would be a formal and tedious affair, and when they reached the stage where it would be appropriate for Eleanor to meet his mother, it would be nothing like this – his mother relaxed in a lumpy easy chair, Eleanor sprawled out on the floor at Loki’s feet in her night clothes, albums spread out around her. 

There would be a lavish feast.  Conversation would consist of proper, dull topics.  Eleanor would need to learn how to be charming and she would wear a beautiful dress of colors her own.  There would be no green covering her body.

For the first time, he is glad that this meeting occurs here, in Eleanor’s Midgardian shack where she is comfortable enough to truly speak to Loki’s mother.

He is missing the conversation and Eleanor laughs, smiling up at Loki.  She lays her head on his knee, wrapping an arm around his calf in a very odd embrace.

If this meeting were occurring in an alternative reality on Asgard, there would be absolutely no touching, save for a formal dance or perhaps a kiss on her hand. 

Even here with his mother smiling on, Eleanor’s touch is assured and knowing.  She touches him with such ease, as if he is an extension of her own self.  She touches him as if it her right.

And perhaps it is.  He gave her that, at least.  It was not forced upon him by the bond Odin wrought.

“He’s not even listening to me,” Eleanor says to his mother, smiling fondly.  “But he hates this stuff.”

He focuses on the current record filling the room with music.

“Twang,” he says with disgust.  “I do loathe it so.”

“I think it is wonderful,” says Frigga.  “There is nothing so fascinating and strange as this on Asgard.  Loki, you must at least admire the uniqueness and variety of Midgardian music.”

“I prefer the classical selections,” he says.

“I’ll put that on now,” Eleanor replies, getting up to change the record.   “It’s beautiful.”

On her way back to her position on the floor she fetches yet another bottle of wine from the kitchen.  This is his mother’s last night with them on Midgard and Eleanor insisted they celebrate.

He looks forward to once more having Eleanor all to himself, but part of him - a lingering, foolishly sentimental part - would have Mother stay.

Eleanor refills his glass, pressing a kiss into his temple.  Frigga is looking at him as if she is on the verge of crying once more.  It makes Loki uncomfortable and he clears his throat before glowering at Eleanor.

“You are far more talented than any musician you have played for us thus far,” he mutters.

“Thanks.”

They settle back down, Mother dramatically clutching her heart and closing her eyes as Mozart swells.

He wonders what Frigga will think of his eventual departure of the Isle. 

As of late, he has barely found the inspiration to develop the necessary spells to ensure escape.  There is no real way of knowing what he could encounter there, and although he is confident in his ability to out-do Odin, the Isle is ancient and the magic that surround it is ancient also.

This arrangement with Eleanor cannot stand, but trapping himself on the Isle for a century is equally unacceptable.

Perhaps there is an alternative.

These conundrums are often set aside for reveling in Eleanor’s presence, attempting to soak up enough of her to last him through the coming isolation on the Isle.

 _If_ he decides to take part in the coming isolation.  The plan in his pocket be damned.


	28. Crime and Punishment

Despite Eleanor’s insistence that their visit to New York City is merely a vacation to celebrate some sort of meaningless American holiday, Loki understands her true purpose. 

Since his mother’s visit, Eleanor has sought new ways to punish him, to fulfill her duties as laid down by Odin.  She is not pleased by the task anymore than Loki is, and he resents the Allfather that much more for putting her in such a position.

As he watched her struggle with her unfair responsibilities, Loki finally acknowledged that the moment he kissed her in the bathroom all those months ago a decision was made to stay at her side.

The plan still folded into his pocket is the desperate scratching of a being without logic and although the current arrangement cannot stand, it will not be Odin who removes the bond because Loki will not willingly retire to an uncertain feature on the Isle of Solitude.

The plan is amended, for the original version is given up as a failure.  Just another failure to add to the ever-mounting list.

The unknowns are too great.  The consequences of entrapment on the Isle could prove unbearable and Loki dislikes the notion of separating from Eleanor once more. 

Still, his resolve to sever the humiliating bond has not abated.  It is Odin’s power that truly subjugates Loki, and being under the Allfather’s control is much worse than being under Eleanor’s.

The bond is degradation to Loki and it cannot continue, even if he has been somewhat lax about seeking its disintegration in the months since summer ended. It is not permanent.  He will find a way out of this painful arrangement, to finally be free of the influence of Odin, the very moment he can summon the energy to do so.

While the insanity has abated in recent months, his exhaustion has not.

Mortals take “vacations” frequently to heal their sensitive minds from the minor stresses of their uneventful lives.  Surely after all he’s endured, Loki deserves rest.

For now he will follow the rules.  He will work with Jane Foster.  He will cooperate.  He will be rehabilitated, but not for long.  Until the burden of living no longer feels so great, the plan will be to lie dormant.

Loki’s latest amendment to the plan in his pocket involves obeying the rules and this is how he comes to find himself back in Stark Tower.

As he waits for Eleanor to return from her meeting with Director Fury some levels below, he stares out at the city that almost became his.  The memories are clear.  He recalls fighting Thor atop this very tower and struggling to lead the senselessly and stupidly brutal Chitauri. 

What he fails to remember is his own desire to win the earth.  Why he would willingly tie his existence to this desolate realm with no intelligent life to speak of remains beyond his comprehension.

Revenge on Thor?  A desire to inflict others with the rage that boils in his own veins?  He can no longer say how precisely the titan remade him to rule this realm, but it does not seem to matter.

In the fifteen Midgardian months since his great failure, the mortals have made slow progress correcting the damage wrought by Loki’s army.  The streets surrounding Stark Tower still form a construction zone, while large quadrants of the city just to the north remain completely closed to the public. 

Eleanor would have him put the broken city back together again.

This is entirely possible, given his mind has now healed enough to allow him access to his magic, and he will do this reconstruction, but only to please Eleanor and maintain the illusion of cooperation.

He highly doubts the secretive authorities of SHIELD will allow for such publically apparent reconstruction, but there was no talking Eleanor out of this.

Although he no longer understands his pervious desire to be king of the mortals, he does not particularly regret his actions.  Eleanor wants guilt and remorse, but he will not be able to give this to her.  Lying is always an option, but honesty is typically best with the songbird. 

To a certain degree, of course.

The damage is done.  She’s seen his weakness, seen him, _knows_ him, and as disquieting as it is, she remains at his side even if he is not wholly convinced that it is all not part of an elaborate revenge scheme.  He would never willingly choose to actively show such weakness and vulnerability when in his right mind, but there is no changing it now. 

It is something of a relief.  There is no need for pretense with Eleanor and as much as he loathes the power she holds over him, Loki blames the situation on Odin rather than condemning his songbird.

The power of her command will not last long and he will be free as soon as he gets around to righting this egregious wrong.  It will be up to Loki to break the bond and he will do so. 

Eventually.

There was no conscious decision made to trust her, but after months at his side Loki somehow stopped questioning her motives and accepted their situation for what it appears to be on the surface, enjoying her even if its all a beautiful falsehood.

Eleanor continues to meet privately with the Director for the first time since she brought Loki back to Midgard.  It has now been nearly an hour without her and he is uncomfortable when she is outside his line of vision, especially here surrounded by enemies who have gathered to celebrate this supposed holiday.

He remembers what the Tesseract showed him.  He remembers Eleanor in the Void and feels the panic in his chest start to rise.

Loki paces along the length of the large windows, his gaze still on the recovering city.  There is snow on the ground, but it is grey and foul, polluted by the humans and their preoccupation with machinery.

Despite the barren landscape, Loki finds himself longing for Eleanor’s inconveniently small cottage in New Mexico, where the people are few and far between.

Where it is quiet.

Still, he would like to see Eleanor smile as she attempts to catch falling snow on her tongue.  He once saw it in a Midgardian film.  It looked pleasant.

He hears her before he sees her and rushes to the door of the rooms they’ve been given for their stay, opening it in time for Eleanor to storm through.

Without pausing to so much as to glance in Loki’s direction, she marches over to the small bar area, pouring herself a tumbler full of an amber alcohol and consuming it all in a series of long gulps.

Loki admires the long column of her throat before he remembers to be concerned.

“Thirsty?” he asks, moving to lean against the wall to better study her.

“Yes,” she snaps, pouring another.  “Want one?”

He nods, recalling Stark’s preference for quality scotch. 

Eleanor finishes her second drink just as quickly as the first, but Loki sips slowly, swirling the liquid as he studies Eleanor.

“I would ask what was discussed in your meeting but I do not particularly care,” he says.

“You don’t care that I am upset?” she asks, giving him that blank look that is always an indicator of trouble.

“It seems the natural reaction to spending any amount of time with Director Fury and his thoroughly annoying band of killers and liars,” he replies.  Eleanor smiles and it pleases him endlessly.

The ultimate killer and liar makes her smiles, while Earth’s mightiest heroes drive her to drink.  What an odd creature she truly is.

“They’re not going to let you help,” she says. 

Loki is unsurprised.

“They say it would raise too many questions and they are trying to keep the public in the dark, even if it means denying them your help,” she continues.

“It is for the best, Eleanor,” he says.  “Despite the rumors, few know of my involvement with the attempted invasion.  I thought you to would prefer to keep my presence here a secret.  Would you have me erect a sky scraper, announcing my presence to all of Midgard?”

“I’d rather you erect other things,” she mutters.

Loki chuckles but Eleanor is still frowning, and this will not do.

“You cannot truly be surprised,” he says. 

She shrugs and pouts.

“Eleanor, what upsets you so?”  He pulls the tie from her hair, allowing it to tumble around her shoulders in an unruly blond mess that should not be half so appealing. 

“I just hate the way the world works sometimes,” she whispers.  “You broke it.  You can fix it.  I want it to be that simple.  It needs to be repaired and you should do it without it threatening national security.”

She mimics the low timber of Director Fury’s speech, making Loki grin.

“Is that all?” he asks.

“I just hate this,” she repeats.

“Hate what precisely?”

Eleanor shakes her head and drinks more alcohol.

“Hate what, my dear?”

She stares at her feet, but he wants her words.

“Eleanor,” he says, keeping his voice low and pleading.  This tone nearly always works.  “Please.”

“If I don’t do this right he’ll take you away, okay!” she says, head snapping up to glare at him.  She can’t quite manage to hide the fear beneath her anger.  “I thought if you could undo some of the structural damage at least then Odin will see that I am trying and you are trying and he won’t take you away.”

His recently dormant fury directed at the Allfather emerges in this moment.  How dare that liar bring tears to Eleanor’s eyes?  His false father is causing the songbird pain and Loki can barely think rationally through the fog of animosity.

“It will not happen, Eleanor,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“You don’t know that.  It seemed like a good idea to fix what you broke.  So that asshole knows you are trying.”

He is not trying, not truly, but this is one secret he will keep from Eleanor.

“This is important to you,” he says.

She bites her lip and nods.  Loki drops his own lips to her ear, pleased that he disabled the room’s recording devices the moment Eleanor left for her meeting.  Eleanor calls this vacation but armed SHIELD guards escorted them here and their departure from the tower would not be allowed.

“Let’s go walking after dark,” he says.  “Perhaps we can find something more subtle than sky scraper construction.”

* * *

 

Eleanor wears all black, sighting the need to go unseen.

At first he is offended that she thinks him incapable of keeping her hidden, but she is delighted by the projections he leaves cuddled up in their bed to dupe those who would look for them, and he forgives her.

Leaving Stark Tower undetected proves laughably easy, especially given the security precautions taken by SHIELD when Eleanor first announced her need to spend the holiday with her false sister’s family in New York City.

As they walk the abandoned streets, Eleanor takes his hand.  These small gestures of affection seem like second nature to the songbird, but they never fail to surprise Loki.  Now he can feel the heat from her skin even thought her gloves.

It is snowing once more and Eleanor tilts back her head, trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.  Although he would never admit to it, Loki is quite fond of this winter weather.

“You’ve got snow on your eye lashes,” Eleanor tells him, continuing to smile.

Loki is stunned to realize in this moment that her happiness brings him happiness.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks.

And he does.

They continue walking and Loki fixes cracked pavement as they go.  Eleanor points out potholes and Loki repairs these as well.  She stops them in front of a chain link fence that forms a circumference around a nearly completed building that will serve as apartments.

“So, we’re like, invisible?” she whispers, eyeing a security camera.

“Essentially, yes,” he replies.  “And there is no need to whisper.”

He leads her into the building.

Loki puts finishing touches on the apartments as they stroll down the hall.  Eleanor sings loudly, enjoying the thrill of being in a place banned to her.

The mortals are not quite stupid enough for his modifications to go unnoticed, but they will disregard their confusion.  Unlike the sudden overnight appearance of a skyscraper, this will cause no great panic, only baffled mortal construction laborers.

That, and Eleanor will smile.

* * *

 

He meets her false family under an equally false name for a meal to celebrate a past meal.

“Do try to explain the point of this so-called holiday?” Loki asks without looking from the window.  He’s never been amongst mortals in such a heavily populated area and he finds the city they’ve built here to be both grotesque and oddly fascinating.

They are driven to Eleanor’s false sister’s home by two heavily armed SHIELD agents in a non-descript vehicle.  There is no way to separate the front seats from the back, but the agents stay quiet and serious.  Their presence causes Loki discomfort and he attempts to pretend that only Eleanor is with him on this journey.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” she replies as if she offers new information.

“So we eat because your ancestors ate?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Thor’s Whore spoke of the elimination of the people who lived here before the people that live here now.  Is this a celebration of the genocide of an inferior race of mortals?” It seems an odd thing for Eleanor to take part in when she is so distraught by his own genocidal attempt.  “Do we extol the successful conquest of your forbearers?”

“No!” Eleanor says, horrified.  “There is no such thing as a superior race of mortals.”

“On this I very much agree,” he says.  “You are all equal in your inferiority.”

He says this more to annoy her than anything.

“Oh, be quiet,” she says, rolling her eyes.  “We’re talking about racism here.  You should know all about it.”

“Racism?”

“Yeah.  The Aesir are crazy racist.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Asgardians systematically oppress Jotunheim on the basis of racial superiority.  That’s like the definition of racism right there.”

“So on this night we celebrate racism?”

It is obvious by the look he receives that Eleanor is well aware of his deft subject change, but for once she does not push on this most forbidden of topics.

“No,” she replies, sighing.  “Racism is not something to celebrate.  This holiday is crap.  I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“It is hypercritical?” he ventures.

“Yeah.  For me and most other people, it is just an excuse to see family and eat way too much.  Plus, there is nothing wrong with being thankful.  I’m very thankful this year,” she says.

“Are you?” Loki asks, finally tearing his gaze away from the mortal world of the city that was almost his out the window. 

“I won’t be alone this year,” she murmurs.

Loki silently agrees that this year is markedly better than the last.  And the one before that as well. 

He strokes her cheek and goes back to staring out the window. 

They arrive and there is no hesitation in Eleanor’s movements as she drags him up the steps, boldly entering the household without even a knock.  In the months without Loki, Eleanor managed to repair damaged bonds with the people she once thought to be her family.  Loki does not want to resent her for it.

He hangs back in the entryway as Eleanor is accosted by the vile sister that attempted to steal away his songbird, her messy offspring, and an older version of the false sister.  Loki takes this woman to be the infamous Maureen.  The embrace she shares with Eleanor is undeniably awkward, but his songbird is smiling shyly so Loki makes no move to rescue her from this liar.

How Eleanor can offer smiles and embraces to those who lied for the entirety of her life is baffling to Loki.  He does not understand her desire to be here but somehow envies her ability to let go at the same time.

Still, he also does not know how she would have him interact with these loathsome mortals who have wronged her so grievously. 

A man is hugging her now – the sister’s husband, Henry Green – and Loki clenches the bottle of wine Eleanor insisted they bring, reminding himself that what may be horribly inappropriate behavior on Asgard is merely a friendly greeting on Midgard.

This man has no designs on Eleanor.  He stands next to his wife and his infant child, but all this logic does little to combat Loki’s jealousy. 

But then Eleanor is turning back to him, taking his hand and smiling fondly.  She introduces him once more under the false name Luke Smith.

Maureen the liar knows Loki’s true identity as does the loathsome Laura, but the husband believes Eleanor’s falsehood and he greets Loki with an unnecessarily enthusiastic handshake. 

Maureen offers only a smile and murmured “hello.”  This pleases Loki as touching the repulsive woman who lied to Eleanor would have proved unbearable.

* * *

 

The false sisters bicker, but both parties seem to enjoy it.  Eleanor avoids her false mother, their relationship strained and unsure, but nowhere near as adversarial as Loki was expecting.  

Henry Green attempts to bond with Loki, seeking out male companionship amongst the Tate woman.  The man gives Loki alcohol and cigars, and is not a horrible chess player.  Despite Loki’s distaste for his wife, this mortal proves bearable company, although he accepts the ridiculous falsehood that Loki is a nickname for Luke, nodding when Eleanor offers a hasty explanation for why she seems incapable of calling Loki the correct false name. 

He would not willingly see these people once more, even with the high quality meal, but Eleanor smiles and Loki accepts that in all likelihood he will be meeting them again.

* * *

 

“Fury’s going to start sending me lists,” she confesses to the window of the sleek black vehicle bringing them back to the tower.

“Lists?” Loki repeats.

“Of the people that died that day in New York,” she murmurs.  “Of the people you and your army killed.  Oh, and the ones that died when you first stole the Tesseract.”

Something clenches within his chest.  He does not regret his actions, but he is not eager for Eleanor to connect names to a body count.

“Why?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Even though Heimdall can’t see us, Odin knows about your progress, right?” she whispers, turning to look at him with wide eyes.  “Because of our bond?”

“Indeed,” Loki admits, hating this fact.

“I’m not going to give them a reason to take you away, Loki.  I can’t… I mean, this is the only punishment I can think of.  Reading the names.  It’s important for a couple reasons.”

He does not argue but is swamped with dread, consumed by a certainty that after Eleanor makes each of the dead into a real person it will not matter what plan he’s added to the paper folded in his pocket for it will be Eleanor to send him away, unable to even look at him.

* * *

 

A package without a return address arrives at the lab for Ellie.  Loki watches her thumb through its contents and sighs heavily, knowing what’s to come.  This is more of a punishment for Eleanor than Loki, but it is important and there is no talking her out of it.

He’s tried.  Extensively.

This so-called punishment was originally a result of her crippling fear that Odin would look at the normal life they’ve carved out here together and decide Loki is not suffering enough.  In the months since she’s started this painful exercise it’s become her own personal brand of atonement, a way for her to go on caring for him while remembering those who died as a result of his actions.

Still, she hates it.  Loki remains unmoved when she tells him about his victims and Eleanor is kept awake at night, wracked with guilt and convinced that Odin will appear at any moment, declare Eleanor unfit for this role, and take Loki away.

It’s her very worst fear.

The car ride home at the end of the day is silent as she contemplates her approach for the evening and Loki sighs every few minutes, resigned to the coming activity.

When they get inside, Loki captures her hips in his hands from behind, lips moving against her neck, and Ellie wants to drop the envelope, but she doesn’t.  She can’t.

She brought him back here and he’ll at least hear their names, even if he doesn’t care, even if it makes her sick.

He knows all too well that on envelope day Eleanor gets sad and has no desire to indulge in the physical side of their relationship, but still he tries to distract her.

“Loki,” she mutters, hunching her shoulders and trying to discourage his affections.

“Surly you do not still plan to continue with this laughable attempt to make me feel remorse,” he whispers in her ear, pushing up her t-shirt.

Eleanor closes her eyes. 

There is a part of him that is so cruel and she does not expect this will ever change.  Still, he is her God of Complexity, and Eleanor entered this arrangement with her eyes wide open.  He is selfish and lacks a conscience, so Eleanor will just have to be his moral compass.

As flawed as he is, Loki cares deeply for Eleanor in ways she only understands slightly better than he does.  And maybe he can find a little redemption in that, but more likely this whole thing will leave Eleanor gutted.

Still, she will try.  For both their sakes.

Loki shows no signs of removing his hands, but Eleanor continues anyway. Drawing the latest document from the manila envelope.  This one contains twenty-five files on twenty-five of the dead from New York.  These will be victims 111 through 136 of 1573. 

This is the fourth packet sent by Fury. 

It’s like her own personal tribute to those who died, an apology for her own part in it, a remembrance. 

The practice is for her as much as him, but only Eleanor is ever affected by the names.  It seems important to remind herself of what’s he’s done because it is such a large part of the narrative that brought them here, that makes him who he is.

She reads through the first two files and he watches her, bored.  A combination of fear and anger takes over, making the idea that pops into her head seem like a good one.

“This woman was thirty-seven,” she says, pulling out file number three.  Loki lets out an annoyed huff but continues to run his hands up and down her sides.  “She was a software developer who was well-known for her barbeque.  She lived in New Jersey with her husband, Patrick, and eight year old son, Kyle.  She was a dog lover and really good at skiing.  Her name was Eleanor Tate.”

As Loki tenses behind her, fingers digging into her hips, Eleanor holds her breath.

Of course this victim’s name is not Eleanor Tate.  Her name is Mary Ann Nickel.

_Mary, Mary, Mary Nickel._

Eleanor repeats the name in her head, a silent tribute to the woman who loved dogs and barbeque and her son Kyle.  She prays for Mary Ann Nickel and those left behind even as she changed the name in an attempt to make a point to the God of Chaos.

“Eleanor Tate sustained third degree burns over eighty percent of her body,” Eleanor continues.  “She died of an infection after a week in the ICU.  Eleanor Tate is survived by her parents, Mary Ellen and Fred, as well as her husband Patrick and her son Kyle.  May she rest in peace.”

“Stop.”  The grip on her hips becomes slightly painful but it’s the pain in his quiet tone that hurts Eleanor in ways his hands never could. 

Fuck Odin for this.  Fuck these impossible circumstances.

She pulls another file from the envelope and reads about a fifty five year old cab driver named Frank.  She changes his name to Eleanor Tate, too.

With a low growl, Loki finally releases Eleanor and starts his frantic pacing. 

Eleanor opens the next file, turning to watch Loki’s movements in her periphery.  This is much more than his typical bored reaction.  Eleanor reads and prays and cries.  She gives tribute to a total of eight people, changing all their names to her own before Loki’s panic becomes too much and her heart cannot take it.

“Why?” he demands, continuing to pace.  Eleanor leans against a counter to keep herself upright as her knees quake.  “Do you mean to use my entirely unreasonable and begrudging affection for you against me?”

“No!” Of course that is how he would intemperate her actions.  With the rage and fear replaced by heartache, the idea no longer seems like a good one at all.  “Not at all.”

Loki comes back. He invades her personal space, caging her in against the counter, his hands digging into the countertop at her sides.  Eleanor continues to cry as she drowns in so many layers of guilt and fear that understanding how she feels seems impossible.

She feels guilty for hurting him.  She feels guilty for caring about his feelings at all when so many are dead.  She feels guilty for caring for him the way she does even as she prays for his victims and their families.

“Do you enjoy torturing me so?  Does causing me pain please you?  Do you mock my affection?”  Loki demands.

“No!”  And suddenly this is not just a bad idea, but an enormous mistake.  “God, no, Loki.  That’s not the point at all.”

“What is the point of regaling me with scenes of your gruesome demise? Do tell.” 

Loki looms over her and it’s painful for Ellie to meet his eyes, but she does.  This was a mistake, given how fragile he still is, how much he hates all she feels for her, and she has to make him understand her motives and reasoning at the very least.

“You made so many people feel the way you feel now,” she whispers.  He stills and raises a questioning eyebrow in confusion.  “All these dead people were someone’s Eleanor Tate, Loki, and I am just trying to make you understand all the grief you caused.  I want you to try to understand how those left behind feel, why causing so many such pain is _bad_.”

They stare at each other for along moment until Loki’s face falls and his head drops forward to rest against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice hitching.  “I shouldn’t have done it this way.  I’m so sorry and just so scared that if we don’t do this right, if I don’t fucking _punish_ you then you’ll be gone, and I’m sorry.  The thought of you hurt kills me too.  I won’t do it again.  I just don’t know what to do.”

He sighs heavily, lips moving against her skin. 

“You would prefer me to care for these mortals I’ve harmed,” he says, sounding miserable.  Eleanor stays still before making the decision to stroke his hair. 

“Yeah,” she replies.  “But I don’t expect you to.”

“This exercise pains you,” he murmurs.  “Reading of the dead pains _you_ , Eleanor.”

She nods.

“I will bring you no more pain,” he says, pulling back to look at her.   “I promise you this.  Is that enough?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But is it?”  He holds her face between his palms and Eleanor is still crying. 

“I don’t know, Loki,” she whispers.  “I just don’t know. For me maybe, it could be enough.  But what about Odin?”

When his lips meet hers, she willingly returns the kiss.

She will always kiss him back it seems.  The only question is if she’ll be able to live with herself.  And if Odin will let her live with it.

* * *

 

“Do you understand what happened to you?” Eleanor murmurs.  Snow is rare in New Mexico and Loki stares out at all the white, thoroughly entranced by the big, fluffy flakes. 

It’s already been a rough night, but he is calm now and willing at least to hear her out.

“To which event do you refer?” he asks, continuing to stare out the window.  Ellie sits sideways on the couch, facing him.  She stress-braids her hair and Loki will notice at any moment and make her stop.

“After New York.  When you lost the scepter and the Tesseract and Bruce beat the shit out of you.”

Loki actually flinches at the memory.

“Insanity,” he replies.

“You were kinda already insane, sweetheart,” she says gently.

“You would like to blame my actions on my mental state. To justify your feelings for me.”

“Yes.”  Still, she knows it isn’t that simple.

“But it was I who kidnapped you, hurt you, and attempted to steal your identity and enslave your people.  It is foolish to forget this, Eleanor,” he says, both stern and sad.  “I am responsible for every name of every victim you insist on reading.”

“Loki, I know.  I’m not making excuses for you.  I know you can be cruel and there is still so much hate in you it scares me, but your actions weren’t only your own,” she says. 

He looks at her now.  It has been awhile since she’s seen that look of pure exhaustion on his face. 

“You told me once that you were remade,” she murmurs.  “Unmade and then remade in his image.”

“Did I?”  He seems to genuinely not remember.

“You told me a lot.”

“Far too much.”

“I think it was always in you,” she continues.  “That capacity for destruction, but it doesn’t have to be this way.  You did those things, but there are reasons, factors.”

“Does it matter?” Loki asks. His weariness is contagious, but Ellie presses on.

“Yes, it matters,” she insists.  “Do you regret it?”

“My attempt to rule this world?” he clarifies.  Ellie nods.  “Not particularly, although I can’t understand it.”

Ellie is not surprised.  It could never have been that easy.  She takes his hand, bringing it to her throat.  He strokes her skin and frowns.

“You do regret hurting me?” she whispers.

Loki yanks his hand away.  “Most deeply.  I regret hurting you above all things,” he murmurs.

Ellie doesn’t look at him.  “After I found out I was adopted, I wanted to destroy things,” she tells him.  “I settled on destroying myself of course, with the drugs and the alcohol and the anonymous sex.”

Loki growls.  Eleanor takes his hand again.

“My father died because of it,” she continues. “My family fell apart. If I could go back knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t do it.  Would you do it again?”

Loki is silent for a long moment, but Ellie is patient.  She does not mind silence.

“No,” he replies.  “I do not know if I would have the strength to resist, but given an option, I would not do it again.”

It’s enough for now. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

 

“It’s our anniversary,” Eleanor mentions casually as she finishes cleaning the kitchen after dinner. 

Loki looks up from his book.  He is reading on a stool at the counter and now he gives her a smile.  Only Eleanor can make the harsh planes of his face soften so and never has he felt such fondness for another.

It is now February, four months after he decided to mend his plan, giving up the foolish idea to retreat to the Isle as a means to end Odin’s continued control over his life.  There must be a way for Loki to break the bond himself, but he has done nothing as of yet to advance this goal.

The months have been restful, peaceful, and verging on boring at times.  Eleanor and a growing interest in learning of the work that goes on in the laboratory interrupt the tedium.  For the most part he is calm.

Still, it is long past time that he altered the power dynamics of his relationship.  Why he is delaying in his quest to put an end to the magic is a mystery to even him, but he’s enjoyed the rest.

It’s been so long since he’s had any true rest.

Then eight days ago Eleanor made the depth of her fear clear to him.  She used her own name to tell him of those that died at his hand and made the extent of the pressure she feels as a result of her bót mannaforráð responsibilities.  Odin has placed Eleanor in an unbearable position and breaking the bond will benefit her as well.

He refuses to consider the possible negative impact breaking the bond will have on his relationship with the songbird.

“We met two years ago today,” she says when he does not respond.  “It’s been two years.”

“Has it?” he asks.

Eleanor’s tinkling laugh delights him.

“You probably remember the exact minute we met, Mr. Brilliant,” she says.

“We had our first conversation ninety–seven minutes past the midnight hour,” he replies.

“Show off,” says the songbird, still smiling.  “Can’t you just say one thirty-seven?”

“Why use one word when twenty will do?” he asks.

She shakes her head.

“I first saw you at 11:02,” he supplies.

She grins and continues her cleaning.  As Eleanor wipes the dark green countertops with a damp rag, Loki watches her intently, waiting for her to get close enough to touch.

“I don’t like this day,” Eleanor whispers, looking at the counter but not actually seeing it. 

The plainly spoken words seem to slice through him, but he hides the hurt from her and then himself also.

Hardening his heart against her becomes progressively more difficult with each day that passes.  The duality of his pathetic need for her and her unacceptable ability to wound him is a conundrum to which there is no clear solution.

“I suppose the anniversary of meeting the monster who would then take over your life would be a troubling memory indeed,” he mutters.

The petulant, defensive edge in his voice is nowhere near the nonchalance he was striving for, but still serves to snap Eleanor out of her daze.  She tilts her head to the side as she blinks and frowns. 

Although no words escape her lips, her expression seems to say “what the hell, Loki?”  It is so clear he can hear it in his mind.

Instead Eleanor lifts her laughably short frame onto the counter separating them, pushing herself close and kissing the corner of his mouth.  In his surprise, Loki fails to respond or touch her in return.

“This is probably ridiculous, but I am super glad I met you, Loki.  You woke me up.”

As much as he does not want to, Loki echoes her sentiment, but he will never tell her.  She already holds far too much power over him. 

His songbird hops off the counter and resumes her cleaning.

“I was really drunk that night.”

“You hid it well.”

“I was drinking because I was sad,” she whispers.  Loki would move mountains and slaughter thousand to keep Eleanor from sadness, but he doubts that would help in the slightest.  Such actions would undoubtedly have the opposite effect. “It was the eighth anniversary of my Dad’s death.”

Her voice breaks and Loki is helpless to do anything but observe.

“So today is the tenth,” he murmurs. 

“That’s why we had fried chicken for dinner.  Dad loved fried chicken.”

Loki detests all things fried, but now does not seem like the ideal time to make this known.

“You miss him,” Loki says, not understanding how this could possibly be so.

“Yeah.  A lot.  I really loved him.  Still do, blood or no blood.”

Loki snorts. 

Eleanor scowls.

“He lied to you and then he abandoned you,” he says.

“He tried to protect me and then died,” she corrects.

“The love was a falsehood,” he says because it is so painfully obvious.

“It wasn’t.  He loved me, just like Laura and Maureen love me still.”

He scoffs again.

“I was so childish and so selfish back then,” she continues, much to Loki’s irritation.  “I had a family that loved me.  Sure there were issues but we were a family and I was blessed.  I wish I could’ve fucking recognized that sooner.  When it really mattered.  I could have saved us all a lot of heartache.”

“When you talk of your false family it is always to teach me a lesson of some kind, while simultaneously attempting to rule me through your example,” he says, studying the nails of his left hand. 

“Oh, _okay_ , God of Selfishness.  Maybe I just wanted to talk about my dead dad.”  She continues to glare and he misses her smiles of just a moment ago. 

“You are more manipulative than that, my sweet,” he says with a smirk.

Eleanor turns crimson.  She really is such a delight to gaze upon when she is angry.

“You changing me by example.  A ridiculous notion.”

“Okay,” she says, barely restraining her anger.  “So I have done that, in the past.  But this is the anniversary of my dad’s death!  I wanted to talk about my dad.”

He does not know how to talk to her about her deceased fake father so he does nothing but stare like a fool.

“Would you rather talk about your father?” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling in a way that is adorable and unnatural on her delicate features. 

Now if only she would go back to the silence he once enjoyed in her so.

The damp wash she holds in her hands drips on the floor and on her dress, but she fails to notice.

“Do you refer to the monster responsible for my existence whom I killed at first chance or my false father who disowned me as vehemently as I reject him?” he snaps.

She sighs heavily.

“I really wish you would stop comparing our situations regarding heritage,” he comments absently, studying his fingernails as he leans casually back in his stool.  “There is nothing remotely similar about out pasts.”

Eleanor stares at him.  She raises a solitary eyebrow, unable to determine if he is serious.

“Nothing remotely similar?” she repeats.

“Yes,” he says, shrugging.  “I am a monster.  You are divinity, trained by mortality.”

“Nothing remotely similar!” She is yelling now, waving her hands around her head as she gestures wildly in her frustration.

The wet dishcloth hits him square in the face.  Slowly it slides down, until dropping to the floor with an unappealing flopping sound.  He blinks rapidly at her, having a hard time determining what just happened.

What _did_ just happen?

Eleanor is doubled over in laughter, words such as “accident” and “I’m sorry but not really” are barely discernible through the strength of her guffaws.  She manages to straighten but when she sees the look of utter disgust on his face she starts laughing again.

“There is nothing remotely similar about our familial situations,” he says again.

Eleanor goes back to be angry so quickly it is a bit disorientating.

“You… oh, just, _you_!” Eleanor is so mad she has a difficult time forming words.  “You’re just… acting like a big bag of dicks!”

He fixes her with a look, questioning her sanity.  She referred to him as a big bag of male gentiles.

What an odd thing to say.

“Tell me, my sweet songbird.  Is this a compliment or an insult?”  He regards her warily, wiping dirty dishwater from his face with his sleeve.  The smile that stretches across her face is most surprising.

These mood swings are more characteristic of Loki than Eleanor.  He’d hate to think that he is changing her in some way.

“I just threw a wash cloth at your face,” she says with a giggle.  “What do you think?”

“You called it an accident!”

“It was.  A happy accident.  I am glad that you are covered in dirty water.”

“We are both adopted,” he says, her laugher stealing his resolve to disagree with her. 

“Yeah,” she says, bestowing him with a soft smile far removed for her amusement and anger of moments before.

“Eleanor, I do not know what to say in regards to your false father’s death.”

“You can stop calling him my false father.”

“Your father,” he amends.  “I do not know what you would have me say.”

“There is nothing to say,” she murmurs.  “But you could hold me and kiss me and make it hurt just a little bit less.”

He does as she suggests and enjoys it far too much.  It is when he comforts Eleanor, taking on her pain as if it were his own, that he realizes that he can delay no more. 

He’s grown far too complacent here, far too comfortable, and it is long past time this unacceptable power was put to an end, for both their sakes.

But mostly his.  The Allfather has no place in his life any longer, no place in his relationship.


	29. Oh, Death

Loki learns much of Eleanor by living in such close proximity to the half mortal.  She enjoys dried grapes covered in dark chocolate and her own brand of mischief that he finds delightfully subtle.  She prefers to wear her hair up in a messy ball at the back of her head, but smiles whenever his long fingers remove the tie from her golden locks.  She is quiet but not shy, and most shocking to the lonely God of Lies, she appears to genuinely enjoy his company. 

She _likes_ having him around, and never falters in her little signs of affection, even in the presence of her friends who openly loathe him.  She defends him when she is so inclined, argues with him when she’s not. 

And she is totally insatiable.

Yes, in the two Midgardians years since meeting her and the ten months living with her in New Mexico, Loki truly knows Eleanor Tate.  Beyond likes and dislikes and tales from her childhood, he has become much more adept at accurately predicting her reactions.  And although he does not doubt her capacity to surprise him, Loki is sure that she will be most unhappy when he breaks Odin’s hold over their lives.

At first.

There will be yelling and glaring and then stony silence, but once Eleanor understands that this means freedom for both of them, her rage will drain away.  When he takes her from this dull realm, showing her the wonders beyond her own tiny world, she will come to thank him.

He does not confide this most recent plan to break the bond to his songbird for she would surely attempt to stop him.  In this, she does not know what is best, but she will one day come to thank him for it.

There is no possible alternative.

But first he must actually devise a means to undo Odin’s magic.  Although he encountered bót mannaforráð magic in his past studies, but was never particularly interested in the old and unused craft, so he did not bother to studiously memorize its details, as he’s done with other magics.

Now he looks at Eleanor typing away at her computer, clothed in a long sleeved dress and wonders were to begin.

“My dear,” he murmurs, moving his lips near her ear for a little privacy.  The shiver that goes through her body as she turns makes him smirk.  “You look lovely today.  This dark shade is a particular favorite of mine.  Whoever suggested you wear such a dress was quite correct in assuming it would enhance your already great beauty.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, but is grinning as if she is pleased by his words even as she endeavors not to be.

“Well, it is part of the bunker wardrobe, so I guess the fashion genius would be you,” she teases as he rests a palm on her thigh.

“Genius indeed,” he murmurs.  “Although I must say I am shocked that SHIELD willingly returned it to you.  However did you manage to wrangle back so many of our stolen possessions from Director Fury?”

“Well, there wasn’t enough space in the storage room for the piano.  When I went to collect it I just started to add things to the list that I wanted.  Fury didn’t really care about my clothes and instruments.  He had linguistics look for anything weird in your Midgardian books before I got those back,” she explains.  “No way were they giving me your whole Asgardian library.”

Loki is pleased that the conversation arrived at the desired topic so quickly.

“Ah, yes,” he laments.  “My poor, confiscated collection.  What do you suppose came of my beloved books?”

“Probably still in the linguistics lab,” Eleanor replies, turning back to her computer.  “You gave the language nerds enough material to keep them occupied for lifetimes.”

Ah, there it is.  The linguistics lab holds his answers.

“They best not harm my books,” Loki mutters, leaning back in his seat.

He closes his eyes and sends out an invisible fragment of his essence.  It moves quickly through the complex, finding the linguistics department with ease.  The mortals he encounters there are carefully analyzing copied pages of his tomes.  Loki changes the symbols they are studying, ensuring that if they do manage to translate the dialect they will find nothing but pornography, no matter what selection they read.

At the back of the workspace is a bolted door.  He passes through it without difficulty, relived to find shelf after shelf of books.  He spent lifetimes establishing this collection and it is a joy to see it intact now.  The selections are stored carefully and Loki is momentarily grateful to the mortals for treating his books properly.

Taking a quick inventory, Loki is pleased to find every work of his collection is present and unharmed.

Looking out through his physical eyes in his physical form that sits at Eleanor’s side, Loki studies the Midgardian book in his physical lap.  For Christmas, Eleanor bestowed upon him the entire works of one William Shakespeare and now Loki fills the pages of this mortal collection with the words of his own. 

All from his seat next to Eleanor, Loki merges the volumes stored in the linguistics department into a single selection disguised as the Midgardian book that sits in his lap.  It takes only a matter of moments to copy the contents of the originals into the one Earthly book in his possession. 

At his command, the words written by one known as William Shakespeare can be replaced with those of any selection of his personal library.  He can search for an exit strategy to this stifling situation or read to Eleanor at her request. 

She claims ignorance to the meaning behind Shakespeare’s lines, but she enjoys it none the less.  Apparently when he reads the Midgardian prose she hears “beautiful music.”

Her wants and needs and smiles are thoroughly distracting from his plans for escape.  Loki finds himself seeking her smiles often, whether he uses his words or his touch.

Or his tongue.

When the songbird opens the pages of the book in his lap, she will see the words of this long dead mortal.  When Loki opens the pages he can call forth any work in his collection.

Pleased with the effort, he recalls the part of his essence responsible for retrieving the contents of his books.

As Eleanor stares at the screen of her computer, Loki grins wickedly.  It is a relief to finally take the first step to removing the damaging bond Odin wrought.

Despite the text now contained in his book, Loki finds himself watching Eleanor.  Soft music plays from the speakers of Darcy Lewis and Eleanor’s lips move, mouthing the words to the song silently as she types away.  Occasionally her brow will furrow and her typing will cease as she thinks hard on something.  Eleanor does her job well and it takes her next to no time to solve her issue.  The corner of her mouth twitches up slightly as she resumes her task.

Loki is very alarmed to find himself smiling as well. 

Focusing once more on the task at hand, he opens his modified book and calls forth the selection of ancient Asgardian law that outlines the exact parameters of the bót mannaforráð magic.

The pathway to his freedom lies within these thousands of pages. 

He finds himself looking at Eleanor again so he snaps at her and sweeps out of the room to read under the tree in the courtyard.

* * *

 

“What are you reading?”

Loki glances down at the naked songbird lying curled into his side.  Her eyes are closed and her breathing remains deep, yet she does not continue to sleep.

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her hair.  Eleanor sighs and shuffles closer, her nose coming into contact with his ribs.

Months ago, when she initiated contact he would jump in terror, his body reacting as if he were still back in the Void.  In his clear mind, he knows Eleanor is in all likelihood not going to cause him harm physically and he no longer reacts negatively as if his sweet songbird were the titan.  Now he is not only used to her touch, he craves her eagerness and willingness to have his skin meet hers.

Eleanor rests her hand on his stomach and his cool skin warms.  She is quiet.  Loki assumes that she’s fallen asleep once more, but then she speaks, her voice a sleepy mumble that is oddly endearing.

“Still?” she asks.  “Please tell me you’ve at least finished _The Merchant of Venice_. Normally you’re a speed reader.”

Loki winces.  He will have to change the covering tomorrow to keep from further arousing her suspicion.

“Nearly done,” he assures her. 

“Why are you reading?”

Loki sighs, wishing she would simply fall back to sleep, but her blue eyes are open and studying him. 

“I enjoy reading.”

“Loki.”

“I am not tired,” he says.  As usual, she makes his unofficial title of God of Lies seem like jest only, something that frustrates Loki endlessly.  Lies never seem to take root when it comes to Eleanor, only half-truths and withheld information.

“It’s the dreams, isn’t it?”

Begrudgingly, he nods in confirmation.

“They’re getting worse,” Eleanor says.  It is an observation rather than a question.

Although the terrors in his dreams never left him, for many months Loki could tell that they were memory only.  Even when asleep, Loki was aware enough to recognize that they were in his head only, simply dreams. 

For the last few weeks they’ve seemed so real and he remains convinced that he is truly in the Void until his thrashing wakes Eleanor and she reminds him that they are false.

There is a direct correlation with the escalation of his dreams and the beginning of his work to break Odin’s hold on their lives. 

“Do you want me to sing?” she asks.

“Not tonight, Eleanor,” he says, needing to focus on freeing himself.  The lack of progress he’s made in the weeks since starting this endeavor is unacceptable and that is mostly Eleanor’s doing as she is endlessly distracting.  Now he considers performing a sleeping spell, but it left her thoroughly disoriented and chatty last time.  “Sleep,” he whispers, but the suggestion is devoid of magic.

Her eyes flutter closed and she is silent once more.  His hand stays in her hair.  The tenderness he shows her should simply be an act to keep her complacent, but he finds himself enjoying the softness she shows him in return.  Allowing himself to feel so much for the frail half mortal was a mistake, but one he does not think he has the strength to correct.

When the chill of his skin makes her shiver, he tucks the comforter more firmly around her shoulders and then gets back to his research. 

He reads well into the night, attempting to find a means to liberate himself from the Allfather’s oppression. 

After many hours, Loki’s eyelids grow heavy, but he is finally making progress.  It is slow going as this ancient work is in a mortal dialect and his Etruscan is rusty.  This is one work he acquired only days before Thor’s banishment and the information is new.  It tells a tale of a previous bót mannaforráð arrangement with the duo residing on Midgard, detailing the toils of the accused to break the bond.  

His heart rate picks up with excitement as he reads a little faster, but then his skin grows glacial and his very organs seem to vanish as he finds his answer.

Death.

Death will grant him what he seeks.

 _Her_ death.

The thought is unreasonably disturbing and far more shocking than it should be, given all he knows about ancient magic such as this. 

With slow, silent movements, Loki shuts the book and sets it on his nightstand.  He slides down to lay beside his songbird and pulls her into his arms.  She comes willingly and with a contented little sigh. 

Her behavior demonstrates just how easy it would be to obtain his freedom.  She may not fully trust him, but she is comfortable enough in his presence to sleep by him nightly and her confidence in her command does the rest.

Although Odin’s magic attempts to guarantee her protection, given the time and desire, a magical work around is highly likely.  There are ways, holes in her single uttered command. 

Yes, he could certainly ensure her death, or at the very least allow it to occur.

Odin would know almost immediately, but Loki would have time to flee and cloak his movements.  He knows of pathways that remain hidden to the Allfather and he could finally be free of Odin’s influence.

Perhaps he could even find refuge from much more sinister threats.

But the cost would be Eleanor’s life. 

His attraction to her grows daily and this alone should compel him to seek her timely demise.  The power she holds over him extends beyond the magic Odin bestowed upon her. 

The strength of his feeling for her is comparable to what he once felt for the false family that ultimately betrayed him and nothing could be more dangerous than allowing her to lull him into a similar position of weakness. 

She is a threat to both his long fought independence and his heart.  It is unacceptable and her elimination should be his highest priority, yet he hesitates.

Over the centuries of his lifetime, Loki never once encountered any to want him as Eleanor does.  It may very well be a lie, as most good things are, but if that is so then it is a beautiful, an addicting falsehood. 

From their very first meeting, she wanted him.  She selected him. 

Before, he was perpetually a second choice to the golden prince, from his family to the various Aesir who caught his interest sexually and the people at large, but one with such beauty and talent as Eleanor _chose him._

It is a feeling Loki is loath to relinquish, falsehood or no.

Eleanor is simultaneously sweet and strong and she _chose_ Loki.  She did so upon their first meeting and then again when she came to Asgard.

He kisses her temple and closes his eyes. 

“I will find an alternative solution,” he whispers, promising her something. 

He dreams of a world without Eleanor, something that proves equally unsettling to the terror of the Void.

* * *

 

“What’s wrong?” Eleanor demands as they tumble along in her vehicle as is their current routine, her paltry job awaiting them.  Loki will spend the day searching out a solution that spares Eleanor’s life.

“Wrong?” he asks as if her question confuses him. 

“You’re super quiet,” she observes.  “And you didn’t even freak when I told you that Steve is coming to town.”

“What?” he snaps.  “You are forbidden from so much as acknowledging his presence.”

The songbird rolls her eyes.  “I knew you weren’t listening,” she grumbles.  “What’s wrong?”

“I am obviously thrilled to be subjected to yet another entertaining day watching your companions toil fruitlessly,” he drawls.  The goal is to coax her into an argument where she convinces him to partake in the research, but she refuses to be distracted. 

“Come on,” she continues.  “What’s up?  You look like you’re coming down from a good old cuddle with the Tesseract.”

“You claim my actions are monstrous, but I am not inherently so.  Correct?”  Eleanor parks in her standard spot by the laboratory, but makes no move to exit the vehicle.

“Yeah,” she replies, sounding thoroughly suspicious, but nowhere near as surprised as Loki himself.  He just willingly referenced a conversation he thought to have banished from his mind.  It seems her ludicrous views on social hierarchy – or lack thereof – took root somewhere in his mind for him to use it as a distraction now.

“I hurt you,” he continues, surprising himself further.  As Eleanor frowns, Loki reaches out to gently stroke the smooth column of her throat, where he left so many bruises.  He thinks on the only current solution to destroy the bond and he is sickened.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Are these not the actions of a monster?”  Something deep within his chest feels uncomfortably tight.

A monster would kill Eleanor.

“The monstrous actions of a lost, desperate soul,” she corrects, taking his hand.  Her soft smile is so damn understanding and it fills Loki with such rage. 

“There is no difference,” he snaps, yanking his hand from hers and slamming out of her terrain vehicle.  For one moment he fears that he truly is monstrous enough to seek an end to her life.

“You know there’s a difference!” she yells after him as he stomps off towards the laboratory.  “You’re the smartest dude I’ve ever met!  Of course you know there’s a difference!”

His footsteps falter and looking at her makes him feel ill, but at least he succeeded in distracting her.

Another excellent plan, executed flawlessly.

* * *

 

“Eleanor,” he says through a clenched jaw.  It is exceedingly difficult to keep his eyes and hands on his book with Eleanor kissing his neck and removing the tie from his hair.  “Stop this at once.”

“Why?” Her voice is a breathless purr and holds such promise.  Deft fingers play with the lacings of his trousers, purposefully teasing and tempting him.  She truly is a glorious creature, not ashamed in the slightest to enjoy his body as much as he does hers.

On Asgard, women tend to be shy little flowers, pretty and demur.  They never failed to make him feel like a rutting, animalistic fool.  And the men are far worse.

Eleanor grazes her teeth against the lobe of his ear and he closes his eyes, stifling a groan.

“I am not in the mood,” he manages.

Eleanor’s answering laugh is throaty and so very appealing, but he remembers his research.

“I said I’m not in the mood for you,” he spits out, pushing her off with more force than necessary.  She bounces slightly on the couch, but catches herself on the arm of the sofa before she can tumble to the floor.  The scowl of absolute loathing that mars her beautiful has an apology coming to his lips as if it is automatic, but he holds back.

“What the fuck?” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.  A thin strap of her dress falls down her arm, but he does not dare touch her to fix the garment. 

“I am reading,” he explains.

“All you’ve done all week is read,” she snaps, hands waving around her head in exasperation.  “No sex.  No mischief.  No fun.  Just reading.”

Loki does not reply.  He just goes back to his reading. 

“Have you discovered a passion for Midgardian literature?” She has a gift for impersonating those around her and her mimicry of him is uncanny.

He rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores her.  If only she knew that his research may very well let her live and grant her freedom.  Then she might give him some peace. 

“You are normally so slutty.”

“Slutty?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

“Hardly ever.”

With a frustrated howl, she gets off the couch and stomps off to the bedroom.

“I’m going to sleep!” she declares before slamming the door behind her. 

And Loki has his peace.

* * *

 

Hours later, he finds himself frustrated and revolted.  Over the last week he’s uncovered several avenues to break the shackles of Odin’s magic, but all solutions have the same destructive end.

In his frustration Loki throws the book against a wall with enough force to rattle the framed pictures that hang there.  For one horrifying moment, Loki reminds himself of _Thor_.

He shudders at the thought.

Needing an outlet for all the tension in his limbs, Loki gets up to pace the length of her small front room.  He has studiously avoided thinking on this option to break the bond through death, but as he comes to understand that there are no alternatives, he forces himself to consider the unthinkable.

His need to protect Eleanor wars with the absolute necessity of eradicating Odin’s influence from his life.  Undoing the bond feels just as dire as keeping Eleanor for his own, both equally necessary to his own survival and he knows not what to do as he exhausts his last hope to find a solution that allows him both.

Was this Odin’s intention? Is this the true nature of his punishment?

How Loki hates the Allfather.  Even after all that has occurred in the last few years, Odin refuses to cease his manipulations.  Still he tries to shape Loki in his image. Now Odin uses Eleanor to make Loki like them, like _Thor_. 

Although Loki cannot understand it, Eleanor appears to be an innocent, but the Allfather corrupted her, uses her, and now she must die for Loki to be his own again.

But the thought of killing his songbird is repugnant.  Even if it is a beautiful lie, she belongs to Loki.  She is lover and companion and after all he’s done to hurt her, still she remains at his side.

He made the promise to cause her no more pain.

But monsters lie as they kill without pause.

Surely, silencing a voice as extraordinary as hers would etch an enduring mark on his hard, black heart that would be truly unbearable.  He would cross the line into true evil, the one he has been dancing near for the entirety of his life.  Admittedly, as of late, the majority of his time was on the far side, but never like this.

There are moments Loki allows Eleanor to convince him that he is not so monstrous, that despite the destruction he’s caused he is not the evil, vile thing he spent his childhood fearing beyond all other evil, vile things.  An end to Odin’s oppression means allowing Eleanor to die, and that would forever mark him as a true monster, beyond redemption.

He was not even aware that he desired the option of redemption before this moment.

Beyond that, Eleanor would be gone.  Loki would be free, Eleanor would be gone, and then what?  He cannot bear the thought of losing her, but accepting the power she holds over him feels like death also.

Another frustrated, panicked wail escapes his lips.  He staggers, stopping his pacing and fisting his hand in his hair.  Ragged breaths rip through his chest, he feels himself slipping from reality, and then –

“Loki?”  The timid voice has the fog lifting from his vision, but does nothing to calm the panic and terror that rushes through every facet of his being.  He forces himself to look at her and once their eyes lock, Loki cannot look away, despite the sickness in his stomach. 

She is rumpled and perfect in the doorway, hair a wild golden halo, legs bare.

“What’s going on?” she whispers.

“I… I…” He sounds like a stuttering, whimpering fool, so he closes his mouth, focusing instead on ceasing the shaking in his hands.  Eleanor says nothing more and he appreciates her affinity for silence.

Closing the distance between them with slow, even paces, she touches the back of his hand, questioning.  She knows of his weakness, knows how sudden movements startle him, knows how physical contact occasionally makes him jump. 

And she should die given all she knows.  She makes him weak and she should die because of it.

He tentatively laces his fingers through hers, allowing her to lead him to the bedroom, standing passively as she strips off his trousers and pulls his tunic off over his head.  He lies on his side, facing away from her. 

It feels like an eternity, but Eleanor curls herself around his back, dainty little hand splayed out against his stomach.  When he holds her hand it is difficult for him to keep from crushing her bones with his grip.

Eleanor sings softly and he closes his eyes.

* * *

 

When he finally sleeps this night he dreams of the Void, but the isolated figure swallowed by the darkness and the silence is not Loki. 

She is held suspended by invisible bonds, limbs splayed and vulnerable.

It is _him_ , the Titan of Death, melting the flesh from her naked frame.  Eleanor’s screams are met with nothing of silence, giving the illusion that she is hopelessly and forever alone.

It is as if Loki observes his own memory, made worse by Eleanor’s presence, and he struggles for a way to intervene but he appears to have no form. 

The titan moves around her diminutive, quivering body, leaving the charred flesh of her front to take a blade to her back.  Eleanor begins to sing about Mary and her lamb, the voice hallow and tormented, by far the worse sound ever to enter Loki’s eardrums.  It seems to slice through Loki as true as _his_ blades.

Loki is helpless to do anything but watch in horror as blood from a thousand gashes paints her soft skin red, only there is no skin left, save for her tear soaked face. 

She loses the will to scream and with it, the will to live.  She will do anything, become anyone, think anything, to be blessed with the mercy of an end, but the titan wants nothing from Eleanor, not like he demanded transformation from Loki.

The titan disappears, dissolving into the utter blackness of the Void, and Loki suddenly has form.  He rushes to her, cradling her face in his palms, pleading with her in a most unbecoming manner. 

“Don’t leave me alone,” he whimpers.  The words do not feel like his own. “Do not go.”

Desperately, he tries to tend to her wounds, to heal the burns and stop the bleeding on her back, but they are too great in number. 

With her last breaths Eleanor speaks, and the panic threatens to overtake him.

“You’re free, Loki,” she manages to whisper.  “You are free.”

And then she’s gone, just like everything else he ever loved.

* * *

 

“Loki!” she screams, shaking his shoulders, desperately trying to rouse him.  The whimpering started twenty minutes ago.  This is nothing out of the ordinary for the traumatized god, but when his body starts convulsing fifteen minutes after that, Eleanor nearly breaks down.

“Wake up!” she screams.  “Please, wake up!”

She has him propped up against the headboard now as best she can, given the shaking.  Eleanor is crying and panicked as she slaps his face and brainstorms ways to get him out of this really fucking bad dream.  She is a moment away from calling Jane because Jane knows everything, when his eyes fly open.

“Eleanor!” he rasps, reaching out to cradle her face, eyes searching wildly.  “Do not go!  Do not leave me alone.”

“What?” She is as confused as she is relieved.  “I can’t,” she tells him because it is a physical impossibility.  “I won’t,” she says because she doesn’t want to.

With a suddenness that makes her squeak, Loki sits up and pulls her into his lap.  She straddles his thighs and tries to understand.

“Loki, wha—”

The question gets cut off when he abruptly pulls her t-shirt off over her head.  His inspection of her body is clinical rather than sexual.  Eleanor gapes at him as his hands travel over skin, searching out something. 

He’s done this before, back in Stark Tower at the height of his crazy.  It scared her then as it scares her now.

Fingers pause as he scrutinizes her nearly faded tan lines.  Loki pulls her close to his chest so hands and eyes can explore the smooth planes of her back.

“You are unhurt,” he mutters, the movement of his hands shifting into a caress. 

She is really crying now, but manages a nod in response.  So many questions pop into her head, but he has scared her so much already this morning and she is unsure if she wants the answers.

“Hush,” she murmurs, stroking his hair and attempting to calm them both.  He hugs her tighter, and Eleanor closes her eyes, finally calming, but then he’s touching her with long, knowing fingers and her breath is picking up all over again. 

It’s been a very long week and this is not exactly something Eleanor wants in this moment, but Loki is just so desperate.  He wants this, _needs_ this in an absolutely necessary, life affirming sort of way.

“Eleanor?” He’s asking for permission.  It always amazes her when he whimpers at her this way, but when he traps her face between his hands to really look at her, something in his intense expression steals her voice. 

All she can do is nod.

* * *

 

“Is everything okay?” Jane’s quiet, concerned question snaps Eleanor out of her daze.  She jumps as she realizes that while she was staring out the window at Loki pacing under his tree she poured too much coffee into her mug and now there is a mess on the counter.

“Shit,” mutters Eleanor, reaching for a dishcloth.  “Sorry, Jane.”

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Jane repeats.

“Yeah, you look like you haven’t slept in a month,” adds Darcy, helpful as ever.  “But Loki looks even worse if that makes you feel better.”

It makes Eleanor feel the opposite of better. 

These last few weeks Loki’s barely been eating. Before her eyes he appears to be transforming back into the gaunt, sickly god that was imprisoned in Stark Tower, this morning events making the similarities between then and now even more apparent.

And Eleanor can’t figure out _why_.

“It’s just been a weird couple weeks with Loki,” she admits.

“Did he hurt you?” asks Jane.

“No,” Eleanor replies.  _Not physically, anyway._ She thinks of his harsh reaction last night and his absolute panicked need for her this morning.  “There’s something he’s not telling me.  I’m worried about him.”

Darcy nods like she understands but Jane frowns.

“We should really tell Thor and SHIELD if you think he’s up to something.”

Eleanor goes back to staring at the pacing god outside. 

Despite all her extremely foolish actions, Eleanor is neither stupid, nor is she blind to Loki’s many, many, many faults.  She knows that there is a possibility that he will try something terrible and sinister.  She’ll be forced to admit that this was all a dangerous waste of time and he’ll go back to Asgard before he hurts more people.

Because she won’t let him hurt more people.

But they’ve done all right these last ten months and she is nowhere near willing to give it up.

“Not yet,” she whispers.  “Give me a few more days, Jane.”

* * *

 

“Do you want some salad?” Eleanor offers the God of Mischief lunch.  After hours of maniacal pacing, he settled down against his tree twenty minutes ago.

“I have no appetite,” he murmurs without so much as opening his eyes. 

Eleanor sits facing him, discarding her lunch in favor of resting a hand against his knee.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” she asks, gently massaging his leg.

“No.”

“Are we going to talk about this morning?”

“No.”

“Are we going to talk about why you’ve been so upset all week?”

“No.”

“I’m pretty concerned here, Loki.”

He just scoffs.

Eleanor sighs but knows just how useless it is to argue.  She eats her salad and waits, hoping he’ll speak when he’s ready.

“What circumstances brought you to Asgard for my trial?” he finally asks, long after her lunch is gone.  He is looking at her now and she is unable to hide her surprise.

“I begged Thor relentlessly for days until he finally agreed,” Eleanor says.

“Oh, you _begged_ Thor, did you?”

“Loki, don’t be absurd,” she replies, rolling her eyes.  The jealousy in his tone is not something she has the patience to deal with in this moment.

“Why?”

“Why should you not be absurd?” she asks just to annoy him.

“Why did you beg your way into Asgard?”

He’s getting slightly hysterical now so she gets serious.

“I still don’t really know,” she says with a shrug.  “Closure, maybe?  I wanted to help you but I had no hope of actually changing anything.”

“ _Help_?” he hisses.

Eleanor pays him no attention, already painfully familiar with his aversion to assistance.  “I just had to go, Loki.  I had too.  In Stark Tower I chose you and I had to see it through.”

He looks at her for a long moment.  It’s a new expression on Loki’s familiar face.  She doesn’t know what it means.

“And what exactly occurred after your arrival?” he demands, composing himself once more.  “Did the Allfather summon you?  Were you coerced into this arrangement with me?  That bit of theater with you leaping to your feet and declaring your objection for all of Asgard to see must have been scripted,” he mutters to himself.

Eleanor frowns, trying to understand what he’s getting at here.

“No,” she replies, speaking slowly and regarding him with suspicion.  “I went straight to a guest room and was told to stay there until your trial the next day.”

Loki tilts his head to the side, studying her.  “You were told?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor says, wincing slightly as she remembers Thor’s anger.  “I didn’t listen.”

“That was extremely foolish,” he snaps, green eyes narrowed.  “Where did you go?”

“Just for a walk in the gardens,” she mutters, dropping her gaze to her lap.  “I met a woman there.”

“Did you?”  The low, dangerous tone of his voice doesn’t make it any easier for her to continue.  It’s shocking that this had yet to come up and Eleanor doesn’t understand why it is so difficult to tell him.

“She claimed to be a messenger, a servant.  She asked me about you, asked me why I was on Asgard.”

“And your reply?”

“That I wanted to help you.”

With a disgusted growl Loki lurches to his feet.  Eleanor watches him warily as he paces.

“Are you actively seeking an end to your pathetic half mortal life?” he demands.  “The Aesir fear and loathe you nearly as they fear and loathe me, yet you wander as if nothing can touch you.”

Although she fights it, Eleanor’s lips twitch into an unwilling smile. 

“Why do you grin?” he asks, slowing to loom over her, every bit the menace in this moment. 

She shakes her head.

“Eleanor!”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I insist you share your thoughts,” Loki says, fisted hands resting on his narrow hips.

“The way you scolded me just then sounded exactly like Thor when he found out about my little garden adventure,” she murmurs, getting a little thrill of satisfaction when he scowls.

The pacing resumes, although his steps are slightly less frantic.

“Who was the woman?” he asks.

“Your mother.”

He actually stumbles.

“I didn’t know until later,” Eleanor continues.  “She gave me a book and forced me to eat this little mint circle thing so I could read it.”

Loki makes a choking sound, his eyes bulging as he stares down at her.

“What?” she asks.  “Are you okay?”

He nods, giving himself a moment to calm down before sitting with his legs crossed, facing her.

“You consumed a foreign and unknown substance in a hostile environment given to you by a complete stranger?” he clarifies.  His blank, disbelieving tone makes her feel like an idiot.

“She wouldn’t take no for an answer, okay!  She’s like her son that way,” Eleanor replies, getting defensive.

Loki closes his eyes, jaw clenched as if he is praying for patience. 

“You consumed a foreign substance—”

“Loki!  Fine, I admit the whole thing was stupid but it already happened and now you’re here to make sure I never do anything so stupid again,” she says, really concerned for him now.

Loki signs heavily and rubs his eyes.

“Why are you asking me this?” she whispers, feeling as though she’d be happier not knowing the answer.  Suddenly her heart feels heavy.  “What’s going on, Loki?  Just tell me.”

He won’t meet her gaze.  That’s never a good sign.

“It was Frigga, not Odin that devised this arrangement?”

She nods.

“Damn.”

“Odin was pissed about it.  He would’ve said no if not for your mom.  He didn’t think we’d last this long,” Eleanor tries to explain.  “It was this or a century all alone, Loki.  Your mom recognized what that would do to you.  Odin thought I’d freak out and give up after ten minutes.”

Loki cracks a smile.  “People tend to underestimate your because of your extremely miniscule stature.”

Now it is Eleanor that smiles.

“Come here,” he says.

She shuffles over on the grass until she’s tucked into his side.

“You possess great beauty and talent, my songbird,” he whispers in ear.  It makes Eleanor feel warm and loved.  It has been a very long time since she’s felt warm and loved.  “I… I’ve spent these last weeks searching for a means to spare your life.  This arrangement seemed unbearable, but the only way to end this magic is for you to die.”

Eleanor tenses against him, all feelings of anything even resembling contentment abruptly evaporate.  She closes her eyes and berates herself for being so exceedingly stupid.

In nearly a decade the walls of Ellie’s heart have not been breached once.  She did not trust.  She did not allow anyone close and in a fucking decade _he_ is her choice?

What sort of fucked up fantasy world was she living in? Thinking he saw her as more than a charming sort of pet was so obviously wrong.

She opens her eyes again, watching Loki stroke her hair but not feeling it because he was going to kill her.  Or he is planning on killing her?  Staying connected with her is so unbearable that killing her is a suitable situation.

What the fuck is wrong with her?

The worst part is her surprise.  Why is she even surprised?  Everyone has told her and told her and told her, but still she is surprised.

“Eleanor?” he asks.  “Are you quite all right?”

She pushes away from him, his touch making her skin crawl in a way that reminds her of the night he kidnapped her.

He fucking kidnapped her.  How could she possibly have thought this wouldn’t happen?

“This surprises you,” Loki says, interpreting her facial expression.  Ellie nods slightly, feeling so foolish.  “It should not. How could you possibly expect anything else?”

And suddenly Eleanor’s shock turns to anger.

“Fuck, you’re an idiot,” she mutters, adding a braid to her hair.  He actually hisses at her, offended.  “Of course I expect more of you.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Just shut up,” she says, scrambling to her feet and adding another fat braid.  Loki slowly and gracefully stands.  She hates how tall he is in this moment.  He’s got a full foot on her and it would be so nice to look down on him for once.  “I do expect better from you, you fucking moron.  You are not a monster, despite your current behavior.”

“Eleanor—”

“Why are you even telling me this?” she interrupts.  “Do you really think I’m so obsessed with you that I’ll just willingly hand over my life to get you out of this horribly painful punishment?  And what about this command of mine?”

He smiles ruefully.  “There are ways around these things, given the time.”

“You were going to kill me?  Or you are going to kill me?  What the fuck are you saying?”

He takes a step closer.  She takes a step back.

“I was never going to kill you,” he says as if it should be obvious.  He seems frustrated, picking at his left hand.  “Forget I said anything.  There is no need to discuss this.”

“Oh, hell no!  You better fucking keep talking.”

He sighs heavily before continuing.  “When my research provided me no alternative, I simply considered all my options.”

“Which included killing me!”

“Or orchestrating a situation where your death was inevitable.”  He shrugs like it is no big deal.

“How is that any different than killing me?” she says, struggling to fight of her tears.

“I suppose from your point of view it isn’t.” 

“What happened?  It started this last week, didn’t it?” she asks, voice breaking.  And Loki is actually looking at her like her reaction is unexpected.  “What changed? Why did you start looking to end this? What did I do?”

“Eleanor, you did nothing.  This is merely the conclusion I’ve reached after many months of attempting to free us both from Odin’s magic.”  His words are measured and slow.  He speaks to her as if she is a child. 

“Months?” she whispers.  “You’ve been plotting to kill me for months?  You’ve been trying to break our bond for _months_?”

“Odin’s bond,” Loki corrects.  He takes up his pacing once more, picking at that goddamn left hand.  “And I was in no way plotting to kill you.  I am not explaining myself well.”

Eleanor is speechless because she really does understand him, loud and fucking clear.  She was wrong about everything.  She thought they were something special.  She thought he cared for her.

“Originally, when you would not immediately allow me to return to Asgard to remove the bond, I planned to allow my magic to return before taking you up your promise to bring me back to the Allfather,” he says.

“This whole time?  You’ve been plotting to leave me this whole fucking time?”  For a moment her anger wins out over the heartbreak.  She wants to live in this anger, using it to rebuild those walls and keep her from everything feeling anything this awful again.

“I planned to escape the Isle and return for you,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.  “But as my sanity returned I realized that there was no way to accurately test my ability to escape.  Releasing a bird from an entrapment of my own making certainly proved inadequate.”

Ellie closes her eyes, absolutely hating herself for ignoring all the now-obvious signs.

“Eventually it became clear that it would not be Odin lifting this magic, but me.  Only I could free us both from this oppressive situation.”

“Oppressive?” she whispers.

“But I was lax and complacent.  It was only several weeks ago that I commenced my research.  There are several spells that will break the bond, but all the magic culminates in your death,” he says, slowing his pacing until he is stopped in front of her, hands clasped behind his back.  Eleanor’s a bit stunned to realize that he’s babbling.  “Last night exhausted all visible possibilities.  I see no alternative.”

“To killing me.”

“Keeping you with me and breaking the bond seemed equally necessary last night.  I had to weigh my options.”

He takes a step towards her.  She takes a step back.

“You are just so determined to ruin your own life, aren’t you?” she mutters.  He truly is beyond redemption if he cannot see the potential here between them.

“Pardon?”  His brow furrows in confusion.  That look was once endearing but he considered killing her because the bond they share is that unbearable, so Ellie doesn’t think that she’ll see him as endearing ever again.

She just shakes her head.

“I will not do this.  I have decided to spare your life,” he says, opening his arms slightly as if expecting her to embrace him.  “I will stay at your side.”

“Oh, well thank you for your benevolence, Almighty One.  Allow me to bow to your divine mercy,” she snaps, leaning into the anger.  Her rage will drown out the loss and rejection and humiliation of being so totally fucking wrong.

He takes a step towards her.  She takes a step back.

“You are irate.”

“Why would I be irate? You’ve decided to spare my life.  What could I possibly be irate about?” she replies, getting a little hysterical herself.

“I do not understand.  You should be pleased about this decision,” he replies, speaking slowly. 

There is a lot she’d like to say.  There are names she considers calling him.  She thinks about collapsing in the grass and letting his cool hands soothe her.  She wants to demand answers and accuse him of being the monster he thinks he is.  Begging him never to leave her is another compulsion she clenches her fists to suppress. Hitting him would feel so good for one small moment because Loki truly has nothing if he doesn’t have her.

And he doesn’t have her.  Not anymore.

Silence is a comfortable old friend and Ellie pulls on the mask like the last two years never happened.  Instead of yelling or fighting or wailing she goes quiet, simply shaking her head, turning on her heel, and slowing making her way back to the lab, back to work. 

Loki does not follow.

 

 


	30. Relapse

In abject misery, Loki stares at the closed bedroom door.  Hours pass and he is unable to consider closing his eyes even as exhaustion seems to dry him out.  The ancient couch causes an ache in his back, but he does not adjust his position because it would decrease his view of the door.

Eleanor sleeps just beyond the blocked entryway, out of his reach.  Sleep without her at his side is unthinkable and he wonders if she longs for him as he longs for her.

Of course she does not.  How could she?

Telling Eleanor of his secret plotting over these past months was no conscious decision, rather a confession that seemed to come forth from his lips on its own volition.  He would like nothing more than to take back that truth, to have Eleanor carry on none the wiser to how he nearly changed both their lives.

Still, he is incapable of allowing any hurt to befall her.  Now, it seems so foolish to have entertained the idea for as long as he did, even if it was only a few minutes that he seriously considered her death an option.

After last night’s particularly brutal dream, Loki gave up all pretenses, finally admitting to himself that he could never allow Eleanor to die.  There are no possible circumstances in which he is capable of putting his own selfish needs before her safety and beyond even that, he would sacrifice his own life gladly to protect hers.

She is his singular priority and perhaps he sought to make this clear with his confession, but the result is quite the opposite. 

The revelation came in the calm moments after their frantic coupling this morning and for the first time Loki found himself believing Eleanor’s near constant mantra.

_You’re not a monster.  You’re not a monster.  You’re not a monster._

For if Loki truly were as monstrous, vile, twisted, and evil as he once thought himself to be, he could sacrifice Eleanor to escape the tyranny of Odin’s interference with relative ease.

But he cannot.  He will not. 

He is no monster, for Eleanor’s wellbeing is of far greater import than his own.

Still, accepting Odin’s continued control left a bitter taste in Loki’s mouth.  Even after the earth shattering revelation that he cares deeply enough to sacrifice all for her, he was in a foul mood when they departed for the laboratory this morning as he would need to learn to live with Odin’s meddling. 

Eleanor eased this woe as well, explaining that the current situation was more his mother’s doing.  It may be Odin’s magic that allows Eleanor’s command to hold him, but the Allfather is displeased by the situation.  Loki is reasonably sure of his mother’s good intentions and perhaps this bond will be something he can learn to tolerate.

As petty as it might be, Odin’s alleged displeasure with this current arrangement is endlessly pleasing to Loki.

This brought him peace for a few moments, until he ruined it confessing his actions and plots over these last few months to Eleanor.

Even as he said the words, he knew he was not explaining correctly.  In his hasty and ill-conceived spiel, he made the situation sound much more dire.  True, there is nothing he did not consider when seeking a way to break the bond, but he had no actual plans to kill her.

Honesty is not a compulsion he often experiences.  Perhaps his lack of experience with truth telling is the reason for his absolute failure to properly explain.

Eleanor does not see this as progress.  This is no positive breakthrough for her mission to change Loki, but an unforgivable slight that has her hidden away behind their locked bedroom door.

Her expression has remained blank and utterly devoid of emotion since his great profession, and she refuses to speak.  She will not so much as glance in his direction.

This was not an expected reaction, although perhaps it should have been.  He thought she would be angry, but would calm after he explained himself.  In this instance, her unpredictability proves particularly devastating, especially as she shook her head in such disappointment, cursing and calling him names that made him feel like the odd child on Asgard once more.

More potent than his offense at the way she spoke to him was the sudden, unmitigated fear that in her anger Eleanor would finally give up on him, as Loki always thought she would, and send him back to the mercy of Odin.

This is still a very real possibility.   

The absurdity of the situation is not lost on Loki.  After toiling fruitlessly for so long, searching for a way to lift this oppressive magic, Eleanor could very well be the one to do it only at Loki’s moment of realization, when he is so desperate to stay.

For the first time he realizes that if he somehow did succeed in breaking their bond, Eleanor would have been free to leave him as well.

As she will probably do so now.

The crippling knowledge that Eleanor may soon be worlds away keeps him from sleep, and he dwells on this likely outcome.  Loki would retreat into his head, unable to learn to really live without her touch and voice while Eleanor will be left here on this vulnerable realm, without Loki’s protection.

Watching Eleanor turn her back and leave him this afternoon was a cruel lesson that showed Loki the true extent of his pathetic dependence on the half mortal.  It is still somewhat shocking that Loki has no desire to take the necessary steps to end this dependency. 

Soon he will more than likely be forced to watch Eleanor walk away from him permanently.

As he stares at the door, Loki ponders Eleanor’s adverse reaction to his declaration that she would not die.  Her life will be spared and Loki will stay a captive.  Surely these are glad tidings, but Eleanor is both furious and – much more disturbing – hurt.

A locked door is nothing to Loki but he dares not force his presence on her further lest it enrage her once more, pushing her to a decision that will once more leave him alone.

He wills the door to open, for her to emerge and allow him a chance to explain this all away with his silver tongue that seems to constantly fail in her presence.

It stays firmly shut to him. 

* * *

 

In the morning Eleanor is up and moving behind the closed door, readying herself for the coming day in the room that he once considered theirs.

There was really never a choice and despite all his considerations, he would never have attempted to harm Eleanor.  It took him some time and a nightmare to accept that the magic would stay between them.  As she explained the true source of this punishment, Loki was further relieved.

She asked him to tell her what was “going on.” When he told her, she withdrew completely, shutting him out of their room and possibly her life.

Loki’s attempt to give her what she’s claimed to desire for months – sharing his thoughts, confessing his actions – did not please her.  As per the usual, Eleanor is preoccupied with the wrong, unimportant detail.

So focused is she on the fact that he briefly contemplated her death that she fails to see that he decided to stay her willing prisoner.  He is committing to a life spent at her side, at her mercy, and she dismisses it as if it nothing.

Ultimately, he wants her to understand that she is of greater importance than undoing the restraint and influence of Odin.  It’s a rather sizable decision and she is locked away behind a door, closed off from him.  The revelation changes everything about him, and Eleanor is ruining the moment with this childish tantrum.

Some time during the long hours of his sleepless night, his fear that she would send him away evolved into anger.

How dare she remove herself the moment he decides to commit to a life lived with her? 

It never takes long for Eleanor to make herself ready for the coming day and Loki is unwilling to be caught in this weakened, humiliating position brooding on the couch.  Arising, he clothes himself in a Midgardian suit that never fails to induce staring from his songbird.

He clasps his hands behind his back and paces in front of the closed door until he hears the knob turn. 

Eleanor is a wreck, wearing denim pants with holes at her knees.  They hang low on her hips.  The white shirt accompanying the destroyed pants is simple, but made for someone even smaller and it leaves a strip of her stomach bare as it clings to her chest far too tightly.  Her hair looks as it would if they’d spent the night vigorously fornicating.

If only that were the case.

Dark bags linger under her eyes but worse of all, she does not look at him even as he stands before her, her face an expressionless mask.

“Good morning,” he says, hopeful that Eleanor let go of this foolishness in the night.

She stares at the floor.

“Eleanor, you will cease with this irrationality at once,” he snaps. 

She moves around him into the kitchen without glancing in his direction and suddenly he is no longer angry.

For a fleeting, terrifying moment Loki thinks perhaps this is the titan’s doing.  Maybe Loki is trapped in this latest vision, a ghost doomed to watch Eleanor live her life without him, never able to touch her or speak to her again.

Loki’s whole existence has been riddled with shadow and now he has become one himself.  He is Eleanor’s shadow.

Loki shakes his head, dispelling the doubt and forcing down the panic that tickles his throat.

“Eleanor,” he says again, placing himself between her and the coffee pot.  The intensity of her answering glare shocks Loki, even if it proves that this is happening in reality.

There is hate and disgust in her gaze.  The expression is one he’s seen many times: on the faces of his peers when he performed impressive bits of magic, when he said the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time, and when he foolishly announced his monstrousness to the crowd outside his white cell, when they mocked him and mocked him and mocked him. 

But this is Eleanor looking at him with such revulsion. Even at their very worst moments in the bunker when he laid hands on her or before when she slapped him out of her bed, Eleanor did not look at him in such a way.

Something in his chest shatters and he steps aside, fleeing the kitchen, unwilling to bear the weight of that look on her face.

He watches her brew coffee from his peripheral vision.  Eleanor eats no breakfast, as she normally does, instead filling a large travel-mug half with coffee, half with whiskey.  Despite the reproach on his tongue, Loki says nothing for fear of further enraging his songbird.

It is difficult to truly push Eleanor to the point of rage and this reaction is unprecedented.  Loki struggles to understand the extent of her ire. 

He will not let her die.  He will allow the bond to stay.  He will make no move to leave her as he begrudgingly serves this penance.

These are glad tidings and what she previously claimed to want.

Eleanor takes long gulps of her alcoholic breakfast and then tops it off with more whiskey.

Without a word she exits their home, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

* * *

 

There are two computer screens when there should only be one, but Ellie types merrily away, hoping – but not really caring – that her work is free of mistakes.

She is self aware enough to admit that this is something of a relapse into the destructive, lonely ways of old.  She knows that the steady drinking and going silent is behavior she put aside two years ago, that acting this way will do nothing to solve anything, but she can’t help it.

The very worst part – even with the new knowledge that Loki has been plotting her death for the last ten months – is her own stupidity.  Somewhere between the ice cream and the sex and the companionship, Eleanor started to trust and depend on him.  She forgot that he is stuck here, that being with her is Loki’s punishment and she fooled herself into thinking that what they had was the real deal.

Loki is the God of Lies.  How can she possibly be surprised that he’s been tricking her since the moment they blasted down from Asgard?

And he claims that there wasn’t a plot but a consideration to kill her as if there is any real difference here.  He thought about killing her. After everything, how could he have entertained that possibility for even a moment?

Loki is watching her. 

He’s been on the couch, staring at her intently since they arrived this morning.  Jane and Darcy keep exchanging concerned glances, but seem content to leave Eleanor to her silence and Loki to his staring.

Long before Loki, back when Ellie’s life was small and she was sure of her place in the world around her, back when her parents were actually her flesh and blood parents, Ellie had simple dreams.  With her simple high school boyfriend she wanted a simple life.  She saw her future with the house and the kids and the yard, but mostly she coveted a life spent with another person.

In the years after her whole life shattered around her, Ellie gave up on the whole business of dreaming and found her old desire to really be with someone particularly laughable. 

The only way to stay safe from hurt is to stay alone.  She learned this lesson well, but Loki made her forget. 

With him she started to want things again, not the house and the kids and the yard, but certainly Loki.  For a few months there, she thought that she had him.  She mistook Loki’s punishment for a relationship and now it hurts to even look at him because for the last ten months Ellie basked in the joy of his presence while Loki was trying to leave her alone again.

She is deeply shamed to have been so egregiously wrong and she mourns the loss of something she never ever had.

“Hey, Eleanor,” Darcy says, approaching with caution.  “We’re going to run to the cafeteria for lunch.  Do you want to come?”

“No, thank you.”

“Do you want us to bring you something?” asks Jane.  Her tone makes Ellie wince.  It is the tone the sane use to address the crazies.  Ellie turned back into a crazy when she went to Asgard or maybe even before that when she visited him day by fucking day in Stark Tower.

“No, thank you.”

They leave her alone with Loki and he crosses the room, standing in front of her desk.  Ignoring him, she reaches for the flask hidden in a drawer.

“Eleanor.”  He is disapproving but Ellie drinks until her throat burns out the pain in her chest. 

She looks at her computer screen and it blurs into two again. She waits for him to leave her the fuck alone.

“Eleanor, _please_.”

Rage boils in her gut.  He is begging for something but what else could he possibly take from her that she was unwilling to give?

She stands.  The force of it knocks over her swivel chair.  Without looking at Loki, she takes her booze and retreats to the bathroom, determined to stay there until Jane and Darcy return from lunch.

* * *

 

Jane and Darcy return from lunch.

Ignoring Ellie’s professed lack of appetite, they bring her a sandwich.  She picks at it, tricking her nosy bosses as she pretends to eat. 

Only Loki knows that she doesn’t put a single bite of food in her mouth.  She can tell by the way he looks at her, even as she refuses to look at him.

She turns to look at the circular space that was once the end of a bridge between worlds.  It would be easy to march out into the middle of that space, screaming her head off until Heimdall or Thor or someone noticed.  They could take Loki away and she could go back to how she was.  Alone, but safe.

It would be so easy.

She stays seated.

* * *

 

Ellie maintains a low level of intoxication for the rest of the week.  Her bosses notice the change in her demeanor, but not the booze.  They seem unwilling to demand answers from Ellie with Loki around.

And Loki is always around, a silent presence that won’t let Ellie ignore all this painful crap he caused her.

He’s been attempting to leave her for ten months but now he won’t give her any distance at all.

He doesn’t hang out under his tree.  He makes no move to read and shows no interest in Jane and Darcy’s work. 

On the second day he stops trying to talk to Ellie.  On the third he goes back to his most casual Asgardian attire and stops combing his hair.  On the fourth he stops attempting to catch Ellie’s eye and suddenly she is not the only one off food.  Then it is Friday and the prospect of spending endless hours alone with the man that provides a harsh reminder of why she spent eight years alone to avoid this kind of hurt is unbearable.

She seriously considers throwing in the towel and handing Loki back over to Odin again, but she can’t bring herself to do it.  All this anger and hurt and she still can’t find it in her to condemn him to a century alone.

But she will lose her mind trapped in the cottage with him.

After work she locks herself in the bedroom, as per the usual.  Instead of drinking herself into a fitful sleep, Ellie rummages in her closet for clothes she has not worn in years.  The black mini skirt and black tank top feel like old friends when she pulls them on. 

In the bathroom Ellie straightens her hair and does her make up.  Her eyes are smoky and the final touch is a bold red lipstick she stole from Darcy’s desk.  The color choice is admittedly a bit cruel.  She doesn’t care.

She grabs her jacket, sticks a full flask in the pocket, and is on her way to her car without every looking at Loki where he sits on the couch.

The car is already in motion when he manages to slide into the passengers seat.

“Eleanor.”  His voice is scolding, full of barely contained frustration.  “Where are we going?”

She doesn’t answer.

“And why aren’t you wearing pants?”

Ellie cranks the stereo, singing along at the top of her lungs and pretending to be totally alone in the car, pretending that she’s been totally alone this whole time.

* * *

 

“Another,” Loki says, snapping his fingers at the scantily clad mortal on the opposite side of the sticky bar.  After making sure she selects his desired brand of alcohol to refill his glass, he goes back to what he has been doing for the previous two hours and thirty-one minutes.

She sits at a table on the far side of the inadequately illuminated space, surrounded by mortal men all vying for her attention. Rage and guilt and fear and rejection prove an odd combination and this excess of unwanted emotion churning about in his stomach leaves him immobile and indecisive across the room.

He wants nothing more to pull her away, to kill all those who look upon her now, but dares not.

In this moment he hates her for deliberately causing him to feel so much with her behavior.  She plays on his jealousy, seeking to hurt him as he hurt her.

But it was him who struck the first blow with his misbegotten confession, inadvertently destroying the fragile relationship they cultivated in an imprudent attempt to make it real and true.

Under archetypal circumstances, Loki would not leave her side in such a setting, intimidating any who dare look upon her and making his claim on her clear.  Now – with Eleanor intoxicated and irrational and unwilling to listen – Loki does not intervene for fear that she will move to sever their bond, sending him to the Isle.

“You know, the staring is getting creepy.”  The mortal bar wench is addressing him.  Loki glances at her as Eleanor laughs with her loathsome companions.

“Mind your tongue, mortal.”

The tender of the bar laughs as if his words were spoken in jest.

“Do you know her?”

“Who?” Loki asks absently as Eleanor whispers in a mortal’s ear.

“The girl you are staring at.  Do you know her?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, you need to give it up.  Hottie like you can have whoever you want, but that one just ain’t interested.”

The keeper of the bar cowers under the force of his scowl and Loki is a moment away from unleashing a verbal lashing on the meddlesome mortal, but a man appears at his side.  As it is, Loki jerks in surprise unable to stop the instinctual reaction to recoil from the unknown.

“Loki,” he says.  “What’s going on?”

This is an agent of SHIELD.  Loki recognizes him from the lab and he forces himself to calm.

“Eleanor is partaking in traditional Midgardian socialization,” Loki snaps.  “What of it?” 

“This situation is concerning,” says the agent.  “We can’t let you hurt anyone, even if it is to… defend her honor.”

Loki rolls his eyes.  “I will do nothing to incur the wrath of Eleanor.  As much as these mortals deserve to burn.”

“Um, okay.  Great,” replies the agent.  He is outstandingly uncomfortable, much to Loki’s delight.  “Just know that we’ve got a team ready to move if you get violent.  Is Eleanor the type to get drunk and reveal classified information to civilians?”

“Eleanor is none of your concern,” Loki snarls, pleased when the agent jumps slightly on his stool.  “Leave her to me.”

The agent looks past Loki, to the table where Eleanor sits.  His eyes go wide and he mutters a curse.  Loki whips his head around, but Eleanor and two mortal men are missing from the table.

“This is your doing,” Loki tells the fool of an agent before disappearing, leaving the SHIELD agent to explain Loki’s sudden absence and to pay for his drinks.

* * *

 

Eleanor is smoking in the dank, dark gap between two buildings.  Two beefy Midgardians loom over her.

“Is this all you got?” Eleanor asks, words slurring into one as she brandishes the fat cigarette between her fingers. 

“I’ve got some coke.”

“Jerry!  You don’t even know this chick.  How old are you even, honey?”

Eleanor inhales deeply.  The smoke she draws into her lungs smells different from the disgusting, slim cigarettes she once favored.

“Old enough,” she replies.

“Well you look about seventeen.  Give me a number.”

“Back off, Rich.”

“I’m twenty eight,” says Eleanor.  “Wait.  No.  I am thirty-four.”

“Bullshit.  You ain’t thirty-four.”

“You don’t know how old you are?”

“It changes every year!” Eleanor giggles to herself and trips over her own feet, catching herself on a brick wall.  “Some years more than others.  Did someone mention coke?”

Loki is at Eleanor’s side before she can finish her inquiry.

“Holy shit!” says one mortal.

“Who the hell are you?” asks the other.  “Where the fuck did you come from, bro?”

The mortals are ignored.  Loki is barely containing the impulse to eviscerate the pair.  Surly this would be allowed per the defense clause of Eleanor’s command, but she would not be pleased about such a violent action.

“Enough, Eleanor,” he says instead, voice low and gruff.

She blows foul smoke in his face, reminding Loki of a different alley nearly two years prior when he forcibly took her as his own.  Although a great deal has changed, Eleanor acts as though it has not.  In her distress, Eleanor has reverted to the lonely, destitute create she was when he first encountered her.

Loki will not be the furious, irrational, out of his mind, megalomaniac puppet he was upon their meeting.

“Do you know his creep, Ellie?”

For the first time in days Eleanor willingly looks at him.  The smirk that twists her features into something hateful further shatters whatever she earlier broke in his chest.

But at least she looks at him and that is something to be treasured.

“Nope,” she says with another giggle.  “Name doesn’t ring a bell.  You don’t look even vaguely familiar.”

There is a mean cackle in her voice as she taunts him with the same words she uttered on a long ago night in a similar location in Washington DC.

“Did he give a name?” one of the mortals asks the other.

Loki knows not what game she plays as she attempts to reenact the night of her kidnapping, but he takes no part in it.

Closing his eyes, he gives himself a small moment to steel himself for the coming unpleasantness.

“Friends,” he says, turning to the mortals.  Despite his burning desire to kill these men, he is remarkably cordial, his tone absolutely reeking of sincerity.  “This is my wife.  My Eleanor.”

He ignores her snort of disgust.

“I am afraid she suffers a rather severe addition problem,” he continues.

“Liar,” Eleanor says as Loki removes the fat cigarette from between her lips, handing it to the mortals.  “He is the God of Lies.  Literally, that is his fucking title.  And I do mean literally, not figuratively.  He is _literally_ the God of Lies.”

Her drunken babble and Loki’s pleading gaze inspires the mortals to remove themselves from the situation with murmured apologies.

“What the flying fuck, Loki!”  She is furious, but looking at him.  She sees him and somehow validates his very existence in doing so.

“Eleanor,” he whispers, cradling her face between his palms.  “What are you doing, my love?”

For a moment Eleanor’s lip quivers and it appears that she will finally stop this madness and speak to him. He will find the words to make her care for him again. She then yanks away, nearly falling in her haste to put distance between them.

“I was trying to get high,” she yells, staggering away.  He follows.  “Fuck you very much.”

“This is no longer the way you deal with times of distress, Eleanor,” he gently reminds her.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do!” She looks at him again and it is a relief.  “The guy I’ve been living with for nearly a year has been plotting to definitely leave me, maybe kill me.  I think that warrants a little recreational drug use!”

“Eleanor, you warp my words.  I was not plotting to kill you, I simply—”

“Just shut the fuck up!”

Loki flinches away at the violence of her tone and Eleanor turns from him.  He feels the loss of her gaze acutely.

“Eleanor?”  She is storming away, towards the lot where her vehicle is parked.  “Where are you going?”

She does not answer, nor did he truly expect her to.  There are keys clutched in her hand as they approach the vehicle.  Before she can fumble to unlock the door, the keys vanish from her grip and materialize in his own fist.

For a moment she sways and stares at her empty hand before turning her rage on him once more.

“Give them back!” she shrieks.

“No.”

“Fuck you.  I’m going home.”

“I will drive.”

“You don’t drive, Loki!”

“It will be no problem, Eleanor.”

He reaches to unlock the door but she blocks his path.  Once more her gaze is upon him.  He vows to prolong the interaction as long as possible.

“Give me the goddamn keys, Loki.”  Her yelling is preferable to stony silence, but Loki’s never experienced her quite so loud.

“No,” he says simply.

“I would have to be insane to get in a car with the dude who is trying to kill me behind the wheel.”

Loki clenches his jaw, struggling against his own simmering rage. This childish behavior is infuriating, but he will not allow her to pull him into such an unproductive altercation.

“I have no desire to kill you,” he murmurs.  “The opposite is in fact truth.”

“Give me the keys, Loki!”

“No.”

“Give me the fucking keys.”

“No.”

“I’ll make you,” she says, wiping tears from her cheeks.  “I can make you.  Isn’t that your whole goddamn problem?”

Loki stays silent, preparing for the inevitable moment where she breaks her promise.  He’s known since the instant she swore to give one command only that they would arrive to this point eventually.  All promises are broken and Loki is unsurprised – and so very disappointed – to see he’s driven Eleanor to break her word.

“So give me the keys, Loki.”

There is no rippling power in her tone, no out pouring of magic bending him to her will.  Even now she hesitates to break her promise.  It makes the coming betrayal worse some how.

“Force me, then,” he snarls, looming over her, demanding she get it over and done with. 

Instead of bellowing a command and breaking a promise, Eleanor lets out an enraged growl, placing her palms on his chest and shoving with her meager strength.  He is unmovable, but in his shock he takes a step back.  Grumbling to herself, Eleanor stomps around to the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

“Unlock the fucking door,” she insists. 

There is no command.  Despite her rage and intoxication, she keeps her promise and gives up this battle. 

Loki is stunned.

“The fucking door!” She yanks viciously on the handle as she yells, spurring him into action.

They get settled in the car and Eleanor does not look at him.

“If you would only converse with me I am sure we could move beyond this unpleasantness,” he murmurs.

He will find the right words.  He will bring them back to the way they were.

Eleanor turns the music up to an absurdly loud volume, drinking more alcohol from a flask.

* * *

 

It is an extremely long drive back to the Stark Compound.  They are trailed by the agents of SHIELD and Eleanor ignores him until they pass the check point to enter the property.

“Turn left,” she says as they come to a convergence of roadways.

“Home is to the right.”

“I can’t go back there.”

“Why ever not?”

“Turn left,” she says again.

Loki turns left.

Their ultimate destination is the residential wing of the complex.  He follows her curt instructions to park between the crude van of Jane Foster and the garish red car of Darcy Lewis.

“Eleanor—”

“Don’t follow me.”

He doesn’t follow her.

For a few moments he sits in the car but there is panic rising in his chest.  Enclosed spaces remind him of his various prisons and open-air assists with his breathing.  Exiting the jeep, he finds a bit of brown grass beside the entrance and Loki lies in the dirt.

The position is unbecoming but in the warm months Eleanor insisted he lie beside her in lush green grass, stargazing.  It was pleasant.

Now, the lights far above him now offer no comfort and he imagines the worst possible scenario inside the building behind him.

Although in all likelihood she is with Thor’s Whore and the buxom brunette, he cannot stop replaying the vision of the Tesseract that showed her lying with a faceless man, her eyes dead.


	31. The Right Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! So this is the last officially official chapter of Long Shadows. An epilogue will follow and I am currently writing a sequel! Keep an eye out for that. I should be posting soon.
> 
> The biggest of all thank yous to Heather for helping me out with her mad beta skills. And to Megan and Mabz for their kind and insightful words of encouragement.
> 
> All the hugs in all the land go to everyone who has taken the time to read, leave kudos, glance at, or review this story! Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> Okay, onward!

When he wakes from his nightmares it is to whispers.

There is a group of SHIELD and Stark employees congregated on the concrete walk lining the patch of dead grass where he spent the remainder of the night.

Although his presence here is well know to the mortals, sighting the God of Mischief is a rare thing.  He stays in the privacy of the laboratory or the courtyard, removed from the areas where these mortals work and live, venturing to this part of the compound only when Eleanor insists they attend dinner with her mortal companions.

His strange position is now causing a scene as they whisper and watch, but Loki knows not how to rectify the situation.

Eleanor’s location is an unknown and he is unwilling to move away from the building.  He will not risk coming to the boundary of their bond and causing her undo pain.

Still, the presence of these mortals is vexing.

There is a commotion in the crowd and Loki gets to his feet as Jane Foster elbows her way towards him.

“She is behind that wall,” says Thor’s Whore when she comes to a stop in front of him.  “On the second flood.  That window.  Is the lab within a hundred yards?”

He calculates.

“The courtyard,” he replies.

“Okay, that’s pretty secluded.  Let’s— Shit!”

Jane Foster curses as Loki touches her shoulder and they materialize by his tree.

“Give a girl some warning,” she murmurs, rubbing her abdomen.  “No wonder Eleanor hates that.”

“She spent the evening with you.”  He hopes.

“Where else would she go?” asks Jane Foster, appearing exceptionally confused for such an intelligent mortal.

Loki does not answer her inquiry, nor does he understand her purpose in seeking him out, but there is no crowd of curious, gawking mortals and this is a large improvement.

“So you are plotting to kill her?” Jane Foster asks.  For a moment he understands Thor’s attraction to the mortal.  She is fierce.  “This whole time, you’ve been planning to kill her?  How is that even possible?  Given the command and everything.”

Loki clenches his jaw and looks to the sky, hoping to find patience there.

“Is that what she told you?” he asks.

“Honestly, it was a lot of drunken babble, but yeah.  Something like that.”

“I never plotted her demise.”  He paces, wringing his hands.  “When it became clear that her death is the only recourse to do away with Odin’s magic I considered the option as I would any option before quickly determining that Eleanor’s safety is priority over all things.”

That was far more information than he planned to share, but Loki is exhausted by nights on the couch, by nightmares without Eleanor.  Honesty seems like the only course of action that will repair the damage caused by similar honesty.

“Ah, I see,” Jane says.  Her tone gives him pause.  There is such understanding there.

“Eleanor remains distressed to know that I will not allow her to die,” Loki says, looming over the puny woman of science.  “Yet you do not even blink.”

“I get it,” she replies, shrugging.  “It sucks and Ellie has a right to be pissed, but I get it.  That’s how my mind words too.  I consider all the options before determining what is viable.  It’s a scientist thing.”

“Eleanor’s death is certainly not viable.”

“Why not?”

The mortal before him has no right to question his affairs and as much as Loki longs to remind her of her place, it would do nothing to endear Eleanor to him once more.  This annoyingly insightful paramour of the thunder god is in a position of influence when it comes to the songbird and Loki is in dire need of any assistance he can acquire at this point.  It would serve him well to have Jane Foster as an ally.

“Would Thor’s demise be a viable option to solve your most urgent problem?” Loki murmurs.

The mortal is terrible at disguising her shock.

“You love Eleanor like I love Thor?”

Loki balks at her word choice but steels his nerve, finding the correct words to sway Jane Foster to his side.

“I imagine so, yes.”

Once again he’s managed to shock the mortal of science, this time with a lie.

“Okay,” she replies, expelling a great huff of air.  “But still.  You’ve been trying to undo Odin’s magic.  You’ve been trying to leave her.”

“I had no plans for our separation to be permanent.”

“Okay,” she says again.  “So why worry about breaking the bond?  If you trust Eleanor enough to stay with her, why undo the magic?”

He does not feel the need to explain to Thor’s Whore why the power Odin holds is so unbearable. 

“So why now?” she presses when he fails to respond.  “You’ve just suddenly stopped trying to break the bond?”

“Yes.”

Jane Foster waits for further explanation.  She gets none.  Loki is forcing himself to partake in this discussion to win an ally, but he will not stoop so low as to give her an excess of detail.

“How did she find out anyway?” Jane Foster asks.

“I told her,” Loki snaps.  This is a ridiculous inquiry.  How else would Eleanor come to know such a thing?

“You told her?  Why?  Do you usually go around telling people stuff like that?”

In confessing his efforts of these last months, Loki hoped to assure her that her trust in him is not misplaced, but his words had the opposite effect.

“It was a miscalculation on my part.  A mistake.  I thought to please her with my decision to allow the bond to stay, ensuring that we will not be separated.”

Jane Foster appears to experience a moment of revelation.  This conversation is intolerable.  He will show no more weakness to Thor’s Whore.

“Wow,” murmurs Jane.  “This is like your own, messed up way of asking her to go steady, huh?”

“Pardon?” Her words are incomprehensible.

“I’ll tell Eleanor that you’re here,” Jane Foster says, stepping away. 

Loki sits with his back to the tree and attempts to mentally prepare himself for Eleanor’s inevitable decision to send him away for good.

* * *

 

“Wake up!”

This is the last thing Ellie wants to do in this moment.  Her head is pounding.  Her heart is broken.  Her stomach is rolling. 

“Wake up, Ellie!”

“Shut up, Darcy.” 

The blanket is pulled from her body and Ellie pulls a pillow over her head.

“Dude, your god is passed out in front of the building and it’s causing quite the stir,” Darcy says. 

The whole sorry state of affairs over the last week rushes back into her head and the rolling in her stomach becomes a heaving.  She sprints passed Darcy, barely making it to the toilet in time to puke.

There isn’t much for her to throw up besides stomach acid and bile.  She’s been off food for a few days now, making her hangover that much worse.

When she’s done, she curls up on the cool tile floor, trying to stop shivering.  She is crying.  The sobs wrack her body and she can’t remember when the tears started.  Before last night she didn’t let herself cry once over this whole mess, but now she is hung over and freezing and puking up nothing into her boss’s toilet. 

Pulling on the mask after living with her own face for so long is more difficult than she expected.

“Ellie, come on,” Darcy murmurs.  She is gentle and serious as she pulls Ellie to her feet.  “You’re shaking.”

Ellie nods, her teeth cratering as she stands before Darcy in her stupid little black skirt and tank top.

“Shit,” Darcy mutters as she moves away.  Ellie doesn’t turn her head to see where the woman went.  She is too busy staring at herself in the mirror.  The image there takes her back years to when this was so common an occurrence she barely even noticed the feeling.

Eleanor is so ashamed and she can’t stop shaking.

The shower is running and Darcy is back.  Her lips move but Ellie can’t hear the words.  There is pity in her gaze.  Ellie studies the floor as Darcy pulls on the hem of her tank top.  She puts her hands up, letting Darcy strip her and then guide her to into the shower.

The water burns but it feels good and Ellie lets it purify her for a few minutes before she feels like a person again.

“Darcy?” she croaks. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re still in here?”

“Just making sure you don’t fall over or start convulsing or something.  Do you need anything?”

“No.”  Ellie’s face flames with embarrassment.  It’s been a long time since she’s been this out of it.  “I am okay now, Darcy.  You don’t have to wait around in here.  I’ll wash my hair and everything.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”  Darcy is still wary.  “I’ll go get you some clean clothes.  Jane’s will fit.  You can stay in as long as you want, but I’m going to come check on you in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Darcy.”

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later she is warm, clothed in jeans and an oversized flannel.  She sits across from Darcy at their small kitchen table, trying to eat a piece of toast.  She is having better luck with the coffee, but Darcy is making her try the whole food thing.  After everything Ellie’s put her through this morning – and probably last night but she can’t fucking remember how she even got here – there is no way she is going to deny Darcy this now.

“Where’s Jane?” Ellie asks.

“She went to go drag Loki away from the crowd and beat him up for trying to kill you,” Darcy says.  She is far too angry and far too serious.  Serious looks weird on Darcy and Ellie has another thing to feel bad about.

“He didn’t try to kill me,” Ellie murmurs, dropping the toast on the plate.  She’ll see if she can keep this half down before attempting the rest.

“Well, that’s sure what it sounded like that night,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest as she glowers at Ellie.

“I’m sorry, Darcy.  I can’t remember.”

“Probably a good thing.  Are you finally ready to tell me what the fuck’s been going on all week?”

Ellie wants to shake her head and slip back into the mask of old, emotionless Ellie, but she owes Darcy an explanation at the very least. 

“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” she says.  And even this simple statement hurts.  “He just thought about it.  I guess he’s been trying to figure out a way to undo our bond this whole time.”

Darcy blinks as if she is waiting for Ellie to say more but she can’t because something painful is twisting around in her chest.

“That’s it?” Darcy asks.

“It?”

“Well, this is the freaking god who almost leveled this town and then released an alien army on New York.  We’ve all been expecting him to try something and frankly I am relieved that he only _thought_ about killing you,” Darcy says.  “Did you really just expect him to sit around and accept this punishment?”

No, Ellie really didn’t.  She’s seen his weird behavior for months, starting with that strange bubble of magic with the bird and culminating with the obsessive reading.  There was no doubt in her mind that Loki was plotting something, she just didn’t think he’d try to leave her, let alone that he’d think about killing her.

“So what happened?” Darcy asks.

Ellie makes herself explain every little detail of the conversation.  It calms her, some how.  Telling Darcy helps Ellie center herself and going through it a second time is less sickening than living it the first time.

“I don’t get it,” Darcy says when Ellie finishes.

“What’s not to get?  He wants to leave me but not enough to kill me.  And then he wants me to feel grateful for it. I don’t know how to be happy about that,” Ellie mutters.

“Yeah, that part sucks.  I just don’t get why he told you at all,” Darcy says.  “He does everything so intentionally, right?  So if he decided to stop trying to break the bond and to not kill you, why tell you about it?  You could just go on having no idea what he was up too, but he told you.  Why the hell would he tell you?”

The question stuns Ellie.  She just sits there gaping at Darcy, amazed by this new insight.

“Did I break your brain?” Darcy asks.

“A little bit,” Ellie says.  “I might need a minute.”

“I’ll make more coffee.”

When the front door opens a few minutes later Ellie tenses, fully expecting to see Loki stroll in.  Her mind is still too full and too foggy to deal with him, so when Jane comes into the kitchen and slides into the chair next to Ellie it is a relief.

“Did you beat him up?” Darcy asks, refilling Ellie’s mug and handing Jane one of her own.

“No,” Jane says, reaching out to rub Ellie’s shoulder.  “He was too pathetic to beat up.  How are you doing, honey?”

“I’ve been better,” Ellie admits.  “What do you mean pathetic?”

“You do know that this relationship of yours is really bizarre and super unhealthy and it would probably just be better to cut your losses and try to figure out a simpler life, right?”

“I guess,” mutters Ellie, although she really doesn’t see that happening any time soon.  Or ever.

Jane sighs heavily.

“He made me feel all sympathetic for him,” Jane says.  “Even after what he did to New York and what he did to Erik and everything he’s done to you, some how I, like, _want_ to be on his side.  How does he even do that?”

Ellie’s laugh is a bit hysterical.  It hurts her throat.

“He’s not going to kill you,” Jane says.

“I mostly know that,” Ellie replies.

“And I don’t think he ever wanted to leave you.  It just took him awhile to figure out what was more important to him, you or undoing Odin’s magic.  He’s got some serious daddy issues.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got to talk to him, Eleanor.”  Jane is pleading now and Ellie blinks, surprised.  “You are both unnecessarily miserable and terrible at communicating. And I am pretty sure that telling you all this was his way of being gallant.”

“I told you there had to be a reason,” says Darcy.

“Gallant?” Ellie is skeptical, to put it mildly. “Really?  _Gallant_?”

“Maybe not gallant. Maybe _real_ is a better way to put it. I don’t know. Just talk to him, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Loki scrambles to his feet at her quiet greeting and Ellie feels at bit guilty for waking him up from his little nap against his tree.  It’s pretty obvious that he’s been getting even less sleep than she is.

“Eleanor.”  He is both tentative and desperate, not like himself.  It makes her feel like such an asshole.  “How do you fair?  Did you sleep?  Did you eat?”

She closes her eyes, his frantic questions doing her hang over no favors.  In this moment he very obviously cares about her wellbeing and that little flare of hope that Darcy and Jane started this morning grows.  Maybe this is something she can get over.

That really depends on the god before her.

“I apologize,” he whispers, understanding her headache without her saying a word.  “I will speak in hushed tones.”

“Can you drive?” she asks.  “You drove last night, right? “

She remembers screaming at him in the parking lot, but that is pretty much the end of her memories from the previous drunken night.

“Yes.  I will drive us home.”

She manages a small smile and resists the urge to grab his hand as they make their way back to her jeep.

* * *

 

She chugs a huge glass of water in the kitchen and Loki watches her with wary, concerned eyes.  He lingers on the far side of the breakfast bar as if he doesn’t want to risk getting too close.

His hesitancy makes sense, given the way she treated him last night.  Thinking about it now makes her stomach roll but the coming conversation she promised Jane makes Ellie want to drink.

She pulls a bottle of whiskey out of a cabinet.

“No,” Loki says, angry.  Still, he makes no move to approach her.  “I have kept my tongue on this long enough.  No more, Eleanor.”

She rolls her eyes, unscrews the cap, and empties the handle into the sink.

“I know,” she murmurs, hoping he’ll take this for the apology it is.  The empty liquor bottle gets recycled.

“Will you talk with me now?”

“Yeah,” she says, sighing.  “Eventually.  But I need sleep and food right now.  I must have eggs.”

“Whatever you like.”

She can feel his eyes following her as she gathers the proper breakfast materials.  With every move she winces and then Loki’s hand is on her shoulder, taking the spatula from her shaking hand as she completely fails to flip the potatoes in the pan.

“What are you doing?” she asks, too tired to feel much of anything, even with him frowning down at her in concern.

“I will do this for you,” he murmurs, nudging her toward a stool.

“You don’t cook.”

“I think I can manage.  Now sit, Eleanor.”

She sits.

All those hours spent watching her cook serve him well now and Ellie is begrudgingly impressed as he whips together eggs in a bowl, adding the perfect amount of milk.  She lays her head on the counter and watches him move around the kitchen with confidence.  It’s oddly soothing.

Loki goes all out, chopping up veggies for omelets and adding bacon to another pan.  The smell makes her groan.

She is so fucking hungry.  Thinking about anything else is completely impossible.  It’s a good thing.  She’s spent all week stewing in hurt and anger, but now she’s done with the bullshit. 

Maybe they’ll work through this and maybe they won’t.  There will be no grand, life-changing decisions made until Loki has his say, and Eleanor won’t be up for hearing it until she eats and sleeps away this hang over.

“Drink,” Loki says, putting a glass of orange juice in front of her face.

Eleanor drinks.

“I will not hurt you, Eleanor,” Loki murmurs as he dishes a huge amount of food onto a plate.  “There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe.”

“Okay,” she says, drooling when he sets down her plate.  “Can I just eat, please?  I’m starving.”

“As am I,” he confessing, taking the seat next to her and digging into his own plate containing even more food than her own.

They eat in silence.  Ellie doesn’t even try to “eat like a lady,” and for once Loki has no scathing comments.  Being near him doesn’t hurt as much as it did yesterday.  Jane and Darcy have her all hopeful.  It’s a dangerous thing, this hope, but Ellie is too tired to feel anything else but hope and exhaustion and delight from this fuck-awesome meal.

“This is so fucking good,” she moans around a bite containing eggs and cheese and potato and bacon.  “Seriously, so good, Loki.”

He beams like a proud little boy and she can’t help but smile back.

Ellie eats everything off the plate and puts it in the sink.

“We’ll do the dishes later,” she murmurs, yawning.  “I’m going to go lay down.”

“May I join you?”  He question is so quiet and unsure, but Eleanor can’t bring herself to say yes, as much as she might want too.

“Just let me have my nap? Okay?”

“Whatever you like, Eleanor.  Whatever you like.”

* * *

 

Patience has never been one of his many strengths and the waiting now is unbearable.  Her promise to speak to him should be calming but the anticipation brings him nothing but anxiety, and he sits with his back straight on the couch for hours as Eleanor sleeps the day away.

He pulls a blanket over his lap to ward off the chill.  It does no good.

The change in her this morning is a stark blessing that should ease his nerves, but the waiting is increasing them moment by moment.

For hours he sits on the couch, gaze fixed on the door.

Despair swallows him and he struggles against the rising tide of panic swelling in his chest. 

Just before he stands to attempt to pace away his fear, the door cracks open and his songbird peaks out at him around the wood. 

She is perfect and silent as she watches him, clothed only in an overlong male shirt and undergarments.

As much as he’d like too, Loki cannot even manage to speak her name.  He wills her to come close, to bestow her affections upon him once more. 

When she finally does move towards his position on the couch, a bit of the choking panic abates and his breathing clams slightly. She sits as far away from him as possible, causing him undo pain, but she turns to face him, truly looking at him.

The thoughts behind those brilliant blue eyes are completely unfathomable to Loki, but regardless of her hurt and anger, she appears to have come to some sort of decision.

“How were you going to do it?” she asks.

Loki is forced to clear his throat twice before he can manage a response.  “Pardon?”

“How were you going to kill me?” she clarifies, her voice breaking.

Suddenly meeting her gaze makes him ill so he closes his eyes.

“Look at me.”  It is a demand, but not a command, and for once he does as she says without complaint.  “How?”

“I had not thought on it.”

“Loki, tell me.”

“Honestly, Eleanor.  I did not want to think on it.  My old contacts could have been utilized, I suppose,” he admits, fulfilling her request and maintaining eye contact becomes much more difficult.  “Or I could have put you in some dangerous circumstance and just stood passively as you…”

He cannot speak the words.

“Say it.”

“I will not.”

She stares at him for long, tense moments.

“But the command—”  She starts but he does not allow her to finish.

“Your words are no match for a liesmith,” he snaps as his temper flares.  Eleanor does not so much as wince.

“How close did you come to doing it?”

Again, Loki curses himself for giving into the bizarre urge to be truthful.  Only with her, it seems, does he feel compelled to be honest.  Eleanor constantly claims to desire his honesty and inner thoughts so he delivered. 

Look where his truth got them.

“I was no where near making such a decision.  Given the situation I would have been remiss not to at least consider—”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

Her close proximity is torturous and as much as he wants to reach out and run a finger down her cheek, somehow he refrains.  

Loki does not like it when Eleanor glares at him and she is doing so with a ferocity that would be adorable in any other situation.  Worse even then her glare is the way her expression seems to crumble a moment later.  The tears return to her eyes and she tilts her face down, hiding from him.

“I would never even think about killing you,” she whispers.  The sound is ragged and pathetic.  “I don’t want you dead.”

Loki wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but he dares not touch her now.  Eleanor angry and so sad it is truly a disturbing sight, and Loki understands her power for the first time.

She could so very easily destroy him and surely she will abandon him, just like everyone else.

“Because you are bright and good while in my heart resides darkness,” he replies.  This truth is more painful than it should be, and Loki hates it because one such as Eleanor deserves so much more than he is capable of giving.  He pities her, but not enough to let her go. If these last days taught him anything it is that life without her is not an option.

Eleanor deserves so much more than to have her life chained to his. 

“And I broke my promise not to hurt you.”  He mumbles to himself, unable to look at Eleanor.  “I told you this once, did I not?  Somehow this hurt you.”

“You don’t understand why this hurt me?” Her voice breaks again.  Loki cannot stand the sound.

Feeling like a young child and a fool, Loki shakes his head.

“How would you feel if our positions were reversed?  If I considered killing you?  Is your life here with me really so awful that you’d think about killing me to escape?”  Eleanor asks.

And Loki understands.

“Oh,” he says, exhaling heavily. _You are just so determined to ruin your own life, aren’t you?_ “Oh.”

“You want to leave me.  If you hate it here so much I’ll go to Odin.  We’ll end this whole thing.”

“You are not the reason I despise this situation, Eleanor.  Before I understood that ending this would mean killing you, I planned to take you with me once I was free of Odin’s oppression.”

“You shouldn’t look at it like that.”

“I will try,” he promises.  “If you allow me to stay, I will try.”

Eleanor lets out a great huffing breath.

“Tell me everything,” she murmurs, stealing Loki’s blanket and resting her head sideways against the cushions as if she is settling down for a fanciful story before bed.

Frowning, Loki considers what not to divulge.

“All of it, Loki,” she insists.  “Don’t leave anything out.  I’m not going to force you back to Asgard no matter what you say, but I want all the details.”

For the first time in memory Loki tells the truth, complete and unabridged.  He keeps nothing from her even as she frowns or rolls her eyes or loses a battle against her tears.

It is a freeing sensation, this total honesty, but not something he’d do for any with the exception of Eleanor.  All he confesses now is a calculated risk, but she is very good at keeping her promises so he must believe that she will not hand him over to Odin when this is done.

Nothing ever seems to work with Eleanor but honesty, but he is rather out of practice with truth telling.

He feels both better and worse simultaneously when he completes this detailed account of his secret goings on these last ten months. 

With bated breath, he watches Eleanor silently study her hands.

“I didn’t get it,” she murmurs.

“Pardon?”

“You see this magic between us differently than I do.  For me it means you are safe and here and if I don’t use the power then who cares that it exists?  For you it is the same old shit with your dad.”

“False dad.”

“It’s a big deal, you accepting this.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Indeed.”

“But you still thought about killing me and I just don’t know what to do with that,” she says, miserable once more.

He shrugs, in no position to deny this unpleasant truth.

“Why did you tell me in the first place?” she asks.  “If you were going to just go on the way we were but without your secret plotting, why tell me at all?”

“I know not.”

“Loki, come on.  You know.”

He holds his frustration within.  How much more could she possibly expect of him?  Does she not recognize the allowance he is making for her? His participation in this discussion is unthinkable but he does it because there seems no other way for them to go to the way they were before.

“It is truth, Eleanor.  The words passed my lips without thought.”

“That’s just not good enough.”

He’s up and pacing, so frustrated that she does not understand and he is lacking the words to make her.

With Eleanor, he is backwards.  He is not cunning or eloquent or strong.  Aspects of his character and skill he once valued are lost against the intensity of her wide, blue gaze.  She looks at him with expectation and for once he would like very much to be what she wants and needs.  She looks at him with hope and hurt.  He wants to kiss away this pain he caused her and he needs her to understand.

With Eleanor, he is backwards, needy and weak before her.  Loki is no longer alarmed to experience such sentiment.  Fear continues to plague him, but its origin is not his devotions to the creature who watches him in silence but the crippling knowledge that he may very well have destroyed her unerring faith she once held in him.

Blinded by his own pride, Loki did not see the possibilities here, and now she might be forever beyond his reach.

So Loki drops to his knees, willingly bowing to the altar of Eleanor.  Loki kneels, desperate for her to understand. 

Her lips part into an appealing “O” of surprise.  She may not understand his words, but the significance of this position is not lost on her.

She blinks and blinks again as if her eyes lie to her mind, but she is looking at him still.  Once he found the depth of her stare disconcerting and far too knowing.  Now she fixes him in her gaze and Loki is not a monster, for it is Eleanor that is doing the looking.

He is something fresh and vulnerable and visible only to Eleanor.

Now if only she will understand.

“You’re kneeling,” she says, dumfounded. 

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to propose, are you?” Her awe transforms to horror.

“Propose what, exactly?” he asks, annoyed to stray from the topic at hand.

She shakes her head once and cracks a smile.  “Never mind.  You’re kneeling.”

“Yes.”

Eleanor is patient and she allows him a moment to gather his words.  She does not object when he grips her knee.

“You questioned my decision to inform you of my planning these last months.”  If an unconscious spew of words can feasibly constitute a decision, as Eleanor seems to think.

She nods.

“Do you recall out time together in the bunker?” he asks.

Her eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, but still she looks at him.  “Yeah, I remember when you _kidnapped_ me.”

The guilt he now feels is new.

“Yes,” he continues.  “Our last conversation.  Do you recall what you told me?”

Eleanor nods and holds his gaze, even as her hands shake.

“You, my sweet songbird, told me that you would never truly belong to me in full, not unless I belonged to you in return.”

Eleanor’s breath hitches and there are tears gathering in her eyes.  Finally, he finds the words.

“To have you, I must give myself, and to give myself I must be here with you in true, accepting Odin’s punishment, _atoning_.”

The tears fall from her eyes and her expression gives him hope.  She covers her mouth with her hands but still she looks at him through the wet veil of her tears.

She sees him.

Her hands drop from her mouth as his kneeling position becomes uncomfortable and they flutter around his face.  He wills her to reach out, to touch him, to forgive, but above all to understand.

But instead her hands fall to her lap and Loki sighs.

“But you thought about killing me,” she says, voice cracking.  She stops looking at him to study her hands and it is more than Loki can stand, so he pushes closer, thighs pressed into the couch, knees digging into the carpet.

When he cradles her face and lifts it towards his, Eleanor does not recoil, and his hope is renewed.

“Considering your death was truly about me rather than you,” he says.

She is angry now, glaring and crossing her arms over her chest, so Loki once more clutches at her knees.  With her expression she clearly says “try again.”  The words are never right the first go round when it comes to Eleanor.  He much nearly be out of second chances at this point.

“I did not so much think about your demise,” he says.  “More, I thought I should be able to sacrifice your life, given what I am.”

Head cocked to the side, she squints and Loki is crushed under the weight of his disappointment because still, she understands not.

But then she does.

Her eyes light up, her expression shifting from horror to shock before settling on something dangerously near to pity.

“Oh, Loki.”  She is sad for him.  She is aching.

“I am not a good man.”  There is no argument from Eleanor, but she reaches out to hold his hand.  “I am selfishly motivated and arrogant.  Before this week, I thought myself other things.  Without mercy.  Willing to sacrifice all to achieve my goals.  We are raised thinking the Frost Giants to be demonic, twisted, cruel, evil, and utterly barbarous.  There is a commonly held truth that Jotunn eat their young ritualistically.  I am growing to doubt this.”

Eleanor traces his knuckles with her thumb and Loki breathes deeply.

“If my nature was truly so monstrous, I could sacrifice you with ease.”

“Loki.”  With his name she offers forgiveness and understanding.  Perhaps he does not have her devotion once more, but it is enough.  There is no need to continue, but he gives into the inexplicable urge to do so.

“Perhaps you are correct,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as she pushes a hand through his hair.  “A monster could ensure your death in exchange for freedom, but I cannot.  Even if it means I must lick Odin’s boots clean, I could not do this thing.  Not ever.  There are no circumstances that—”

“Loki!” 

He glares, annoyed to be interrupted, but she is smiling at him as if he is the epicenter of her own personal universe.  He hopes it’s true.

When she tugs on his shoulders, he goes towards her, willing.

“Come here, come here, my beautiful God of Saying the Right Thing.”

His arms are full of Eleanor and he’s done the right thing, said the right thing.  There is a mass exodus of tension from his body and he is awash in relief.

She understands.

Eleanor wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him close.  Loki closes his eyes and feels lighter than he has in years.  For once breathing is easy and he is content to go on holding Eleanor forever, if she’d let him.

“You were kneeling,” she says, speaking her words into his neck.

“Never speak of it.”  In this moment he can’t manage any real bite in his words.  “Do not expect to see such a thing ever again.  Desperate times and what not.”

When Eleanor laughs, she finally sounds like herself.  “Then don’t fuck up like this again.”

He did not expect his bliss to last, but he would have liked a bit more time before the worry descended once more.  Worry he does because he has no idea how to truly be what Eleanor deserves and he will most assuredly “fuck up” again.

Will the next time be unforgivable?  Or will it be the time after that?  Eventually, Eleanor will come to know that her life would be much better without him in it and he’s agreed to allow her power over him to stay.  When she tires of him there will be no way for him to combat her decision to banish him from her side.

“Loki,” she says.  “I was just teasing.  Everyone makes mistakes and as long as you don’t go around killing me or anyone else we’ll be fine.  If you misbehave, I’m not going to just send you away.  That’s not how this works.  The only conditions on this arrangement are Odin’s, but… can you just respect the command?  For me?  Please?”

“If you insist.”  Loki can feel her smile against his neck.  “Eleanor, I am sorry.  Truly.”

“I know.  We’re going to be okay,” she says.  “We’re going to be okay and we’re going to stay together.”

As Eleanor clings to him for reasons unknown, Loki struggles to understand why she would keep him here.  Despite this last week, she’s forgiven him with relative ease, and now it is Loki that does not understand why.

Obsession.

She said the word after his original confession and he sees it now for truth.  All signs point to her obsession and obsession is a malady so easily manipulated.  

Loki pushes a hand through her wild locks, his lips curling into a smile against her temple. 

A plan to guarantee Eleanor's continued devotion begins to take shape in his mind.  He will play upon her weakness for him, make her grow ever more dependent on his presence.  He will gain her trust and perhaps even her love.

Eleanor is just the sort of foolish creature to believe in such a childish myth.

She will grow to need him as she needs to breathe, insuring that she never elects to leave him no matter how he might “fuck up” in the future and most importantly, insuring that she never issues another command. This arrangement could very well last for years, until a whim strikes Odin and Loki is declared rehabilitated, but the God of Mischief is patient.  

And if Odin thinks Eleanor is doing a poor job punishing Loki, let him come.  Let him try to separate them now.

Loki will play their game and bide his time.  Eleanor will love him as Loki plots out their glorious future. 


	32. Interlude

She dreams of her father, with his kind eyes and scratchy dark bread.  She is small and loved.  When he kisses her cheek, his stubble tickles and makes her giggle.

“Shave, Daddy,” she tells him, pouting.

“Sing, Ellie,” he replies.  “You sing so beautifully.  Your voice is special.”

She tries to do as he says.  When she sings it makes him smile, makes him proud, but this time when she opens her mouth, horrid, shrieking sounds spill out rather than music.  She screams familiar words at him.

“ _You’re not my dad!  You aren’t my family.  You never ever_ fucking _were.   I hate you!  I fucking hate you, you goddamn liar.  Fuck you, Harrison.  You’re_ not _my dad.”_

She wants to change the words.  She wants to warn him about the next part, the dead part, but she has no control of her own voice, the one he loves so much.

This time it is fire rather than ice that takes away her father, at least Eleanor thinks it’s fire.  It is certainly red but also black, like burned, fluid sand.  The whole world goes dark.  She calls out for her father but he is incinerated before her eyes.

She wants Loki.  She wants to wake up.

But they are not flames, despite the red and black that breaks up her father, particle by particle, until he is nothing but ash, dissipated into the darkness until there is nothing left of the man who raised her.

It’s in her.  This is her doing.  She stares at her arms and the veins below her skin glow.  She is surrounded.  She is consumed.

It is not fire but something dark, something twisted and feeling and capable of snuffing out all the light in the world.

All the light in all the worlds.

It is neither solid nor liquid nor gas.  It moves like oil, like pollution, like the scariest movie of her youth, the one with the fairies and _Hexxus_ , but when the red and black speaks it does not use words or even a voice, but Eleanor understands the intent here.

Because it’s all about intent. 

The world goes red and suddenly it is Eleanor that wants to extinguish all light from the universe.  The intensity of the feeling causes her to stumble.  Veins of black, fluid particles fill her vision.

“Loki!” she screams, searching frantically through smoke that isn’t really smoke but he’s gone, snuffled out.  He always claimed to have the heart of darkness, but when the light goes, so goes Loki.

Fear chokes her as she comes to the crushing realization that she is alone.  No one will hear her screams.  Nothing seems as terrifying as the aloneness until the sinister voice reverberates in her head, rattling around between her ears. 

“Eleanor Tate,” something says, tone laced with both pleasure and cruelty.  “You will do.  Oh yes, you will do.”

And then there is laughter.

Eleanor wants Loki.  She wants the voice to stop.

She is suspended in the air, vision black, arms spread wide as something is pulled from her veins.

And then her eyes open.

 

Soaked with sweat and heart racing, she stares at the ceiling for a moment and blindly reaches out for Loki in the bed next to her.  She is met with nothing but cool sheets.  She sits straight up in bed, clutching the comforter to her naked chest as she attempts to get her bearings.

One glance around the unfamiliar room has the panic returning tenfold. 

She fell asleep curled up next to Loki in their cramped bedroom, but this is most definitely not the same space.  The furniture is theirs, but in the night it seems to have relocated to a huge-ass, foreign room.  For a moment she thinks she’s back in Asgard, in Loki’s quarters, but that is just insane.

She opens her mouth but it takes three tries for the scream to leave her mouth.  “Loki!” 

She is trying to catch her breath to call for him again when he suddenly appears at the foot of their bed.

“Eleanor?” he barks, eyes darting around frantically.  “What has happened?  Are you hurt?  What is it that alarms you so?”

Ellie shuffles, getting on her knees to meet him at the end of the bed.  The blanket falls away as she throws herself against him.  She squeezes his waist and buries her face in his soft green sweater.

“Eleanor!” he exclaims, holding her a little too tight.  “Please explain this.  You are frightening me.”

“Bad dreams,” she manages. 

Loki does not reply as he easily lifts her, settling them both against the headboard.  He holds her cradled against his chest as she shakes, until she is calm enough to speak.

“You are warm,” he murmurs, frowning down at her.  When he lays a chilled palm on her forehead she sighs in contentment.  He runs his other hand up and down the length of her spine, cooling her immediately.  “Was it your father?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor says, struggling to remember.  The dream is rapidly fading but the fear remains.  “It was different, even more terrifying but I can’t remember.  There was fire instead of ice.”

Loki shivers.  He hates fire.  It’s a big time trigger, a lingering scar from the Void.  She cuddles a little closer.

“Except it wasn’t really fire,” she says.  “There was red and dark smoke that wasn’t really smoke and then there was nothing at all.”

“What do you mean smoke that was not truly smoke?”

“I… I don’t know.”  She shakes her head, but the dream is gone, the imagines fleeing her mind and leaving nothing but a sense of deep unease.

“Do try and recall, my pet,” he says, kissing her temple.  “Dreams can have great significance.”

Eleanor nods and closes her eyes again.  His soothing hands begin to caress her. 

“I’ve got nothing,” she tells him after a few seconds.

He sighs heavily and continues to touch her.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, reminding her that she is indeed naked.  She smiles against his lips when he gives her a lazy kiss and threads her fingers through his soft, inky locks. “I can make it better,” he whispers, hands dipping lower.  “I can make you forget all but my name.”

It is not until she finds herself flat on her back, writhing under her God of Sexiness, that she remembers the second reason for her morning panic.  Using his hair, she tugs his head up from her chest so he has no choice but to look her in the eye.

“Eleanor,” he says, obviously annoyed. “Why do you stop me?”                      

“Uh, because I have no idea where we are,” she replies.

“Home, my songbird,” he whispers, distracting hands running down her body.  “Where else would we be?”

Eleanor scoffs, pushing him off her.  He lets out a disgruntled huff when she gets out of bed, snagging her green silk robe off the floor, just where Loki discarded it last night.

Except not, because this is definitely a different room than the one she fell asleep in.

“What the fuck?” she mutters, securing the sash at her waist as she glances around the room that is three times the size of their actual bedroom. 

Loki sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Eleanor to stand between his legs.  She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for an explanation.

“Later,” he murmurs, pushing apart her robe with his nose.  “I will explain how this is our home only after I’ve had you.”

It’s tempting, but curiosity wins.

“Where are we, Loki?” she asks with as much patience as she can manage.  “Why are the walls green?”

“It is a very pale shade,” he snaps, getting defensive.  “I am surprised your weak, half-mortal eyes were able to notice.”

With a roll of said weak, half-mortal eyes, Eleanor pulls away from him to look out the nearby window, pulling back dark green drapes.  The view is basically the same, although now she is looking out at the familiar rocky outcropping from a much greater height.

“Are we on the second floor?” she asks, continuing to gape out the window.  “We don’t have a second floor!”

Smirking, Loki joins her at the window.  “Now we do.”

“Show me.”

She’s too stunned to say anything else, and for the first time this morning Loki looks unsure but he still leads her through the new adjoining bathroom that now includes beautiful granite countertops and a steam shower with multiple shower heads.  The tile work is lovely.

They go back through their spacious bedroom to an attached balcony.  On the deck is the chess table she purchased for him last month. 

They exit the bedroom into a hall with high, wooden ceilings, just like those in their old cottage.  Despite the size and the luxurious features, this structure still looks like home.  Loki shows her two empty bedrooms and slightly less fancy bathrooms. 

“I thought you might want a hand in their decoration,” he mutters, looking embarrassed.  “For any visitors you might desire to provide accommodations for.  My mother. Or, much to my detestation, _Laura_.”

Eleanor manages to nod as she takes in the sunny rooms.  Loki leads her down a grand, curving staircase into a foyer.  The stone detailing somehow manages to be both cozy and opulent at the same time.  For the first floor, Loki appears to have taken the layout of the cottage and stretched it to at least four times its original square footage, adding rooms off the main open space off the kitchen and family room.

The kitchen still has the counters she put in with Steve, but it is now spacious with room enough for a kitchen table.  There is a dining room, a formal living room, both without furniture, and so many windows.

“You thrive in the sunshine,” Loki mutters in explanation.  He looks embarrassed again and picks at his left hand.

This is undoubtedly some sort of penance for the whole he thought about killing her fiasco.  In the months since he’s been extremely careful with her, almost too careful.  Although they are starting to get back to normal, there were long stretches of days when he was too attentive and too doting.  She found herself missing his snark and wit and even his mild distain for pretty much everything.

“Eleanor?” He extends a hand and she takes it, dumbly following as he completes the tour.

There is a library room with dark wood paneling and a desk that is obviously designed more to fit his rich tastes.  All their books have been moved here from their cramped shelves in their former family room. 

The spacious new music room makes her feel faint.  The piano is on a raised wooden surface, surrounded on three sides by windows.  There is seating near the instrument if she ever feels the need to perform.  The practice portion of the room is lined with her instruments, on stands or hanging on the wall.  The ceiling is a complex pattern of triangles.

“I plan to add a room in which you many record your music, but again I felt your input was required.”  With hands in his pockets and tension in his shoulders, Loki watches her intently.

“You did all this?” she asks, finally finding her voice.

“Obviously,” he drawls, picking at his left hand.

“Did you steal anything?” She has to ask, although she doubts it.  Their newly expanded home seems to lack stuff.

“Of course not,” he snaps, scowling at her now.  “All you see is the result of manipulated and duplicated matter found already in the cottage.  And from several paint and tile samples I procured from the internet.”

Eleanor gapes at him, marveling over the detail of his workmanship and the fact that he used the _internet_ to sneak in _tile samples_.  He managed to maintain the character of the home she loved so much while adding an air of elegance that is just so clearly Loki.

“Is this an I-am-sorry-I-thought-about-killing-you house?” she asks.

“Pardon?”

“Did you do this because you still feel bad about our fight a couple months ago?” she clarifies.  “Because I forgave you for all that.  I didn’t need an apology house.”

“I did this because if I am to resign myself to a fate trapped on this dismal realm than I am in need of proper accommodation befitting of my station,” he says, smirking slightly when she rolls her eyes.  “Also, it is a bit of an apology house.”

Eleanor laughs and shakes her head, trying to clear it because this is beyond unbelievable.  “Good.  Maybe you will stop acting all weird.”

“I have not been _weird_.”

“Dude, you are treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“I know not what you mean.” 

Except the look on his face says he clearly does and that he’s horrified that she noticed a change in his behavior.

She can’t believe this beautiful house is real.

“You did this all last night?” she asks, trying to understand how this is even possible.

“When else am I supposed to construct such a surprise?” he’s losing his composure, gesturing wildly.  “Sneaking away from you is obviously an impossibility.”

Eleanor thinks about her terror upon waking without him in such unfamiliar surroundings.

“I’m not sure I like surprises,” she murmurs, studying the amazing ceiling.  The acoustics in here are going to be bomb.

“I can change any aspect of which you do not approve,” he mutters, upset.  Eleanor realizes that she’s said the wrong thing, but she’s still too shocked to express herself properly.  “Or I can also set everything back just as it was, if you prefer.  It may take some time, so I require your patience, my lady.”

His formal tone serves to snap her from her daze.  She’s hurt his feelings.  It is just stunning to see the effort her expended to please her.

Eleanor smiles and approaches her nervous God of Remodeling.

“You made me a house,” she says, taking his hand.  “An apology house.  You built us a beautiful home, Loki.”

“I did.”  Now he looks wary. 

“You built us a house!”  This time he picks up on her awe and joy. 

“I built us a house,” he agrees, proud but still guarded.

“Wow.”

“You like our new home, I take it?”  He seems to hold his breath as he waits for an answer.

“Understatement,” she replies, wrapping her arms around his waist. His hands rest on her shoulders as he blinks down at her in confusion.  “I… It’s amazing, Loki.  You are amazing.”

Loki seems to deflate, his body relaxing against hers as he hugs her to his chest.

“I am relieved and thrilled,” he murmurs, stroking her hair.  “Anything for you, Eleanor.  Anything.”

Again, he is being a little too nice and a little too schmoopy, but she ignores it for now because he built them a house.

“How long have you been working on this?” she asks.

“Months.  Since…”

“Since you decided to really be all in when it comes to the whole atonement deal?” she supplies before he can bring up the killing her plan.  She doesn’t want to hear him say it again.

Loki sighs.

Eleanor pulls way in order to keep looking at everything he’s done for her.  “The acoustics in here are really great,” she observes.

“I borrowed heavily from Asgardian architecture for this room in particular.”  He runs his hand up a wooden beam.

Eleanor sings a quick scale, making Loki grin.

“I love it, you sneaky, sneaky, god.”

“Allow me to show you the pool.”

“There’s a fucking pool?”

“Language!”

Eleanor looses her words once more as she takes in the water.  The day is already heating up and the placid blue water is appealing.  The pool is a ridiculous shape and it takes her a moment to get it.

“Is it bird shaped?  Did you make us a bird shaped pool?”

“It’s songbird shaped,” he corrects, grinning.

“Cool,” Eleanor replies, allowing her robe to fall from her shoulders.  The silky green fabric gathers at her feet.  “Take off your pants.”

Loki laughs, hands moving to fulfill her request.  “Just my pants?”

“The rest of it too.  Skinny dipping is the best.”

When he reaches for her she dodges at the last moment, leaping into the water.  She tucks her knees to her chest and hits the surface as a cannonball, hoping her splash reaches him.

She whips her hair back and out of her face when she surfaces in time to see his smooth dive.  It doesn’t take long for him to find her ankle, pulling her towards him.  When he pushes her up against the edge to the ridiculous bird shaped pool, she smiles and groans and forgets her nightmares.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for being wonderful and reading this sucker. 
> 
> Be on the look out for the sequel. It's going to be pretty heavy on the Thor 2.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Glory and Gore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090382) by [CarelessMisbehaviour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarelessMisbehaviour/pseuds/CarelessMisbehaviour)




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